


Twin Peaks

by ByronicHero



Category: Hannibal (TV), Twin Peaks
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Murder, Murder Mystery, No Underage Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23429971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByronicHero/pseuds/ByronicHero
Summary: Hannibal - Twin Peaks AU.A body of a teenage girl was washed ashore on a lake of little town of Twin Peaks. FBI agent Will Graham was called to investigate. He was about to find that there were many dark secrets in the town and getting tangled up in secrets could prove fatal.*Hannigram fic - despite the tagged pairings.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Will Graham, Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter, Bella Crawford/Jack Crawford, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Margot Verger
Comments: 3
Kudos: 4





	1. Wrapped in plastic

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if this can be called a fanfic because I squeezed together two great series and wanted to keep some of the original dialogue so there's plenty taken from the actual scripts. I'm not a writer and not very good at writing in English so there's probably a million mistakes in there.
> 
> I was hoping that someone had written this combination already but there was only one unfinished & T+ version, so I made one myself (with E-rating because that's where this is going if I pull this off). It's not very good but if there is an actual fanfic writer out there who would be interested in writing an actually decent twin peaks/Hannibal fic, then please feel free to use my fic if you need anything from it. Or at least give me a holler because I really wanna read twin peaks/Hannibal fanfic.
> 
> I was sorely tempted to make Hannibal take Audrey Horne's place as teenage Hannibal but I think I might love canon Hannibal more and I wanted him to be the Cheasepeak Ripper. Maybe if I don't get exhausted by my attempts to write this fic I might make a short fic where there's Audrey-Hannibal seducing agent Graham.
> 
> One more thing: I added a warning about rape but there won't be any rape scenes. It's just part of Twin Peaks plot so I decided to keep it here too. Maybe. I might make it to be something in the end. And "underage" refers to mentions about teenagers having being raped or having sex but there won't be any descriptions about it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI I have no idea what I'm doing. If you hate this please write a better one and give me the link, because I want to read it rather than fumble here on my own.

Early morning of February 24th was cold, misty & grey in the little town of Twin Peaks. The signs of spring were there as the warming weather was melting the snow banks, gathering little puddles and streams of water along the roads and ditches.  
A lonely sound of a meadowlark's song sounded somewhere amongst the giant firs. Echoes of faraway freight trains sounded through the still sleeping town.

Intersection where Sparkwood Road met Highway "21", a traffic light cycled from green to yellow to red. No cars were on the roads yet; only distant noises of faraway lumber trucks.

Interstate highway "21" was a long, straight road leading up between two snow tipped mountains, Whitetail and Blue Pine, the twin peaks the town was named after. The twin peaks loomed majestically in the horizon over the rather picturesque little town. It was both charming & industrial; a town of generations of lumbering with its saw mills and the neat town center surrounded by small businesses and cafés, idyllic little houses with tidy yards.

The heart of the town is the Packard sawmill, a massive industrial structure on the south shore of Black Lake. Sawdust and steam shoot out of funnels and pipes. A distant tug shepherds a logjam towards the sawmill gates. A piercing steam whistle signals the end of the night shift.

An old man dressed warmly in a fleece jacket & fisherman's gear was trotting on the pebbled shores of the large misty lake. He climbed on a wooden dock, stopped to put down his tackle box, ready his fishing rod to cast out the line when something white catched his eye just few feet away to his right, along the shoreline. His brows furrowed from the odd look & size of the thing as well as that it was on the private shore of the lands he owned with his wife Katherine & the heiress of Packard sawmills, Phyllis Packard, widower of his brother in law.

He walked brusquely down the wooden stairs down, back to the shoreline and towards the white shape, water lapping at his boots. He was sure it was just some trash that was pulled by the currents of the large lake, but the shape & size of the white thing ("Plastic?" The old man thought, "That looks like a plastic sheet") was bizarre, completely unnatural & that's why he found it unnerving. He now cautiously approached the plastic shape and it took his mind a moment to process what he was seeing. A moment more to believe what he was seeing. It was a plastic sheet, alright, & it had been wrapped tightly with duct tape over something that he could see now as the wet dark hair that peeked through the opening in that plastic, wrapper. The old man was vaguely grateful that the body, for it was certainly an actual human body & not some stolen mannequin taken from the Verger department store, was lying face down. "Dear god", the man thought as he felt his senses returning back to him, "I could see the fingers too; it's a body, a real dead body."  
The old man turned on his heels & started to run back towards his house.

*

Twin Peaks town sheriff was a large, dark skinned man in his late forties named Jack Crawford, who had had a quiet morning so far. He had been born & raised in Twin Peaks, knew most of the townsfolk by looks or reputation over his 20 year career as an officer of the law and 45 years of living there. Despite the usually low crime rates, which made his job easier than in other parts of the country, he was still very good at his job.  
There was an underbelly in his peaceful town but every time unrest arrived he turned into a bloodhound and sniffed trouble out before it had time to upset the peace he had grown to love and appreciate - more so with his age. But most of the time his job was handling drunks and disorderly, domestic disputes, petty thefts or just managing day to day problems from neighbors quarrelling about yard decorations or kids blasting music too loud in the park.

Jack stood in the lobby of his small precinct, turned to the coffee station and the coffee maker there to pour himself his first cup, when the dispatcher, Jimmy Price, a man of Jack's age, very loyal & capable but with a terrible sense of humour, called him from behind the front desk, eyebrows raised in a look of perplexed:"

"Sheriff, call for you, it's Pete Martell up at the Mill."

Crawford walked over to Jimmy and picked up the offered phone. He knew Pete, hell, everybody in town knew the Martell's and the Packards. It was rather unusual to get a 911 call from them so Jack was already on edge as he put his barely touched coffee cup down as he spoke:  
"Sheriff here", he listened to the man on the other side of the line, his face growing grim, "Slow down, Pete: where? ... You stay right there, I'm on my way. And don't touch anything." Jack hanged up, grabbed his hat and coat and headed for the door when he spoke to puzzled looking Jimmy:  
" You better get Katz, tell her to meet me up at the Packard Mill, the dock right below the dam - and get Zeller on the horn, tell him to get his ass up there right now."  
Price, still uncharacteristically serious, like he knows something is wrong:  
"What is it, Jack? "  
"We got a body up there. Don't say a word to anyone till you hear from me. "  
Crawford barged out from the station & hopped into his souped-up Diamond County Sheriffs Department cruiser, fired up the big V-8 and sped it towards the highway, as his red and blue toplights started spinning.

Crawford's mind was racing while he sped towards the Packard's Blue Pine Lodge. He had some experience with dead bodies as people died in a car or fishing accidents annually and there were some occasional assaults but never actual murders. And what Pete had said on the phone: "She's dead, wrapped in plastic", made it very clear that this wasn't going to be a case of fisherman drowning and getting washed to the shore, or a bar-fight gone wrong, no. And Pete's hectic, trembling voice had unnerved him. No, this was something truly bad, he could feel it in his guts; the growing sense of cold trepidation.

Crawford's cruiser was swallowed by the gigantic pines near the Packards Blue pine Lodge, a massive log-cabin, as he followed the well paved private road to the large pinewood house. Pete's wife Katherine & a beautiful dark skinned woman, heiress of the Packard mills, Phyllis Packard were standing on their porch, facing the lake, wrapped in opulent fur coats, and Pete was walking towards him, waving his hand to gesture him to follow. Jack pulled up, turned off the flashing lights still spinning, and before he could exit the car, the Diamond County Coroner's station wagon pulled up alongside him. Jack got out and joined Dr. Beverly Katz, the Medical Examiner, a woman in her thirties with black thick hair pulled on a bun, dressed in thick clothing to ward off the early spring chill. They exchanged grim nods, both realizing the seriousness of the situation as they moved towards the shore, escorted by Pete.

"What've we got? " Beverly asked.  
"Let's go find out. " Crawford said shortly.  
They made their way down the wooden steps to the pebbled shoreline, following Pete, as the lake's waves kept lapping hungrily towards their feet, reaching their icy cold waters towards the body wrapped in plastic like some grim Christmas present. Pete stopped to turn to look at them, as they approached the plastic figure:  
"We haven't touched anything."  
Crawford merely nods, he and Beverly moved forward to stand around the body. Pete stood further away, his body turned away from the gruesome sight. Jack could see the old man tremble and he couldn't blame him. He himself felt deeply troubled.

Careful not to touch anything, Beverly kneeled beside the body and began to examine it with her eyes first, cataloguing everything from the way she had been wrapped to how loose the wrappings had become, indicating that she had most likely been in the water.Crawford looked at the miserable little bundle and wondered if the deceased would be anyone he knew: "You want forensics first?" Beverly shook her head: "She's been in the water, there won't be any forensic evidence to collect from here." Crawford nodded, he figured as much: "Let's get some pictures before we see who that is. "

Deputy Brian Zeller, a young man with black short hair & equally black scruff on his face, still a little wet behind the ears but intelligent and quick witted, hurried towards them, carrying a forensic examination kit and a camera.  
Zeller hollered at them as he approached:" You need the kit, Sheriff?"  
"Sure. Bring that camera down here, Katz wants some pictures before we turn her over."  
Zeller merely stood staring down at the body: "Who is she?"  
"Zeller, the camera."  
"Sorry." Zeller put down the kit and raised the camera to shoot various angles of the body, while Crawford and Katz stood aside. Zeller kneeled down to get a closer shot:  
"Kinda reminds me of the time we found the blowup doll down at the Beaver creek, you remember when we got the calls that --"  
Beverly shook her head wearily: " Jesus, Zeller."  
Crawford barked: "That's enough."  
Zeller looked flustered: " Sorry. sorry, I just meant that maybe it's a doll, a prank or something," the man's voice faded away.  
Beverly stopped him with the reach of her hand: " Give me the camera, I'll take a few pictures too". Beverly took the offered camera from him and took some more pictures. Crawford noticed that a crowd of mill workers were gathering above on the dock, trying to see, fulfill their morbid curiosity.  
Crawford turned to Brian: " Zeller, get up on the dock and clear that crowd back. "  
"Yeah, okay." Zeller walked away seemingly relieved.  
Beverly observed the dead girl's wrist visible beneath the plastic sheet: there were some marks made by a rope and other small, distinctive wounds. She knew what it all indicated: the bruises on the wrists & fact that the body had been intentionally wrapped inside a plastic sheet & for a good measure taped over the body to keep it inside it, but she didn't want to believe someone from the town, someone she perhaps even knew could do a thing like this. She swallowed harshly before putting the camera down.  
"Ok, Let's turn her over. "

Crawford and Beverly grabbed the body by the shoulders and knees and gently turned it over. Beverly raised the camera again and took more pictures.Crawford glanced at her when she took a step back, Beverly looked at him and nodded.  
Carefully Jack turned the sheet away from the body's face to reveal a face of a young teenage girl, whose face was white, almost a shade of blue, crumbs of sand sticking to the plain but pretty face. There was an obvious and ghastly looking open wound on her slender neck: her throat had been cut. Crawford heard Beverly gasp as she saw the face:  
"Oh god, Abigail , that's Abigail Hobbs!"  
Crawford looked at the dead girl's face and was hit with recognition: Abigail Hobbs. The only daughter of Laura & Garrett Jacob-Hobbs. Both whom he knew.  
Crawford rubbed his face &whispered: "Sweet Jesus ... "

*

In A quiet, upper middle-class neighborhood was the residence of the Hobbs family. A middle aged blonde woman in her pale pink morning gown was turning some bacon over on the griddle before setting them aside. She lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke & glancing at the kitchen clock before she started walking towards the staircase. She turned her head up to look up at the shadows upstairs before yelling:  
"Abby, sweetheart, I'm not gonna tell you again! "

No answer. She waited, took a huff of her cigarette before she tried again: "Abigail?" Still no response from the upstairs. She shook her head & started walking up the stairs, muttering to herself: "Oh for goodness sakes .."

Laura Hobbs opened the door to Abigail's bedroom but stopped on her tracks. Abigail's bed was made but there was no one in the girl's room. She blinked confused and turned to start walking down the hall to the bathroom and knocked on the door: "Abigail?" No answer. She tried the door and opened it when she noticed that it wasn't locked but there was no sign of Abigail. She blinked, confused, turned back into the hall, starting to worry now. She tried calling for her daughter once again but louder: "Abigail! Honey, are you downstairs?

Laura walked back to Abigail's room. Now she noticed that the window was ajar as the lace curtains were blowing in the cool breeze. She walked to the room and sat on the pink bedspread before picking up the white princess phone beside Abigail's bed. She dialed to his husband's work place at Great Northern hotel and waited for someone to answer.

*

In the grand conference room at the Great Northern hotel Mason Verger stood at the head of a table, addressing a fifteen Norwegian businessmen. Beside him, an interpreter translated each sentence into Norwegian. Garret Jacob-Hobbs sat at Verger's left as Masons sister Margot Verger sat at his right.  
A hotel employee quietly entered and discreetly whispered something to Garrett Jacob-Hobbs who nodded and rose up from his seat; "Excuse me a moment, gentlemen. "

  
He walked to the lobby as the meeting went on. He walked to the front desk where the assistant offered him the phone:  
"Laura? What is it?"  
"Is Abigail with you? "  
"No, why? "  
Laura sounded slightly hysterical: "She didn't go with you this morning? "  
"No, what's wrong, what's this about? "  
"She's not here, she wasn't here this morning -" Looking out the window, Hobbs saw Sheriff Crawford driving up, parking and walking towards the hotel.  
"She's probably with Marissa--"  
"I can't reach her either - "  
"Well that's it then, let's not worry - "  
"She would've left a note, why didn't she tell me? Why didn't she leave me a note? "  
"Laura, calm down, honey, please ..." Looking towards the lobby front desk he saw Crawford speaking to the desk clerk, who pointed to where Hobbs was standing clutching the phone tighter. The Sheriff saw Hobbs, locked eyes with him and started walking towards him.  
"Sheriff Crawford... ", Hobbs whispered.  
"Who?! What did you say--! "  
"Please. Laura, I'm going to have to call you back..."  
"Oh my God ... oh my God, Abby, no, Abby!"  
The Sheriff reached Hobbs, hat in hand. Hobbs covered the mouthpiece of the phone. Crawford spoke in grave tone, barely able to look at him in the eyes now:  
"Mr. Hobbs... "  
"Is this about Abigail?"  
" I'm afraid it is, sir. "

Laura Hobbs screamed for his husband over the phone. They could hear her cry out : "Garrett, what is it? My baby! Tell me, oh God, Garrett!"  
"We found a body this morning, I'm sorry Mr. Hobbs, it was Abigail."  
The phone slipped from Hobbs hands as he crashed down to the floor on his knees. Startled Crawford stood next to him, leaning down to sit on one knee, searching for words when Mason Verger, the owner of the Great Northern hotel came hollering at them: "Garrett, we're reaaady to go over the fucking contracts!" He stopped on his tracks and gawked for a second before letting out a shrill short laugh: "What's going on? What's he doing?" The question was aimed at the startled desk clerk who looked like he a deer caught in the headlights, just uselessly opening his mouth and sweating, looking nervously from Mr. Verger to Hobbs.  
Before Crawford or anyone could say anything else Hobbs spoke with a monotone voice of someone who has trouble speaking, trouble believing: "My daughter's dead."

*

Dr. Beverly Katz was sitting in the corridor of the hospital's morgue. She rose to her feet as Mr & Mrs Hobbs and Sheriff Crawford came from the elevator. Beverly had had a few years of experience in the role of sidelooker of other people's grief and still she had trouble searching for the adequate words. So she decided to stick to the script since she couldn't think of anything else, more heartfelt, to say. Maybe there was simply nothing else to say: "I'm so sorry--"  
Laura Hobbs interrupted her: "Seventeen years old." Before she could say anything else, if she was going to say anything more, she burst into new tears. Her husband didn't react at all, Beverly noticed. He looked like all life had left him. Beverly put her arm around Laura Hobbs, feeling sorry for her small frame shaking alone under the weight of her grief. Laura let her hold her in a loose embrace until Jack Crawford decided it was time to continue and spoke:  
"Are you ready, Mrs Hobbs?" Mrs Hobbs sniffed into her handkerchief, trying to stifle her tears for a moment and pulled away. Beverly turned to open the door marked "morgue." She spoke hesitantly: "Hate to put you through this-..." "No", Laura Hobbs said with sudden fire and life in her red puffy eyes:" I have to see her. I want to see what was done to my little girl".

Beverly and Crawford led them through the door. Mr and Mrs Hobbs watched as Beverly slid open a refrigerated vault holding the body of Abigail Hobbs. She removed the sheet from the girls face and Mr Hobbs let out a choked sound as Mrs Hobbs started to whine and sob, repeating "my baby" over and over again before Crawford gave Beverly a quick affirmative nod and started to gently usher the grieving couple outside back to the corridor. Beverly sighed and covered the girl's face again before she slid her back into the freezer, thinking that it was going to be a very long day.

*

Sheriff had driven the couple back to their house to take their statements there, figuring it would be probably for the best to allow them some privacy. Brian Zeller rode in the seat next to his and looked at least as tired as Jack felt himself to be.  
A woman was waiting for them on the front porch. Crawford recognised her as Mrs Schurr, owner of the Schurr clothing store and neighbor to the Hobbs family. She waited till they had walked to the front door before she walked to Laura Hobbs and embraced her. It took them a while before they got inside the house as the two women clutched onto each other and cried together.

Crawford, Mrs. Hobbs and Mrs. Shurr sat down in the Hobbs' living room. Sheriff was seated on a chair next to Laura Hobbs, quietly questioning her, as she tried to hold herself together. Jack couldn't help but to admire her strength... and to pity her.  
"What time was it when you last saw Abigail, Mrs. Hobbs?"  
"I think... it would have been about eight o'clock. She came back from Melissa's, that's Melissa Schurr, and was going up those stairs",  
"Did she say anything? "  
"No... She said goodnight. And I- I said, 'G-goodnight, s-sweet-... sweetheart'. T-then I heard her door close."  
She choked on her words and was close to tears for a moment, but swallowed it down. Mrs Schurr took her hand and held it. Laura heard footsteps upstairs and almost jumped, startled: "Who's upstairs? "  
"Your husband and one of my men."  
Laura Hobbs looked into the distance with a blank look on her face: "I can tell from the sounds that it isn't her ... "  
Crawford and Mrs. Schurr exchanged a look, Crawford's grim and Mrs. Schurr's upset and a little scared.

Garrett Jacob-Hobbs sat on his daughter's bed, his hand absent-mindedly brushing the bedspread. Deputy Zeller was searching the room, trying to do so respectfully. He opened a dresser drawer beside the bed and discovered a locked diary, embossed with Abigail's initials. Zeller glanced at the statue of a man, sitting on the bed, looking like he was miles away. He swallowed but decided to try and to get Mr Hobbs to speak. The man hadn't said a word since he had heard his daughter was dead.  
"Do you know where the key for this is, sir? "  
Hobbs shook his head:  
"... Do you have to take that?"  
"We'll return it as soon as possible. "  
Hobbs kept staring at the floor. Zeller placed the diary into a cardboard box along with other collected evidence; her schoolbooks, letters, anything that might be useful. Zeller moved to and opened a closet door. He turned on an overhead light and the first thing he saw was a video camera sitting on a shelf.

Crawford continued to gently question Laura Hobbs :  
"Can you remember, Mrs. Hobbs ... did she make or receive any phone calls? "  
"I heard her phone ring once... "  
"About what time was that? "  
"... I don't know who it w-was ..." She whispered absently, in a slightly panicked voice as her breathing grew more hectic, eyes gathering more tears.  
Phone rang just then. Crawford looked at Brian, who was now standing by the kitchen door with a box of things gathered from Abigail's room. He nodded at Jack and turned to the kitchen to go answer it.  
"Do you recall the time the phone rang? " Jack asked still in a gentle, patient voice.  
"I, I was getting ready for bed. Yes. Garret was just coming home ... I think it was around nine o'clock. I don't know who- who called my daughter." She started to cry again and Jack realized that the interrogation was coming to an end. Returning from the kitchen, Brian signaled Crawford to come over. Jack rose from his seat leaving Mrs Schurr to console the crying woman . Brian spoke in a quiet, urgent voice:  
" That was Jimmy. He got a call from a guy who works up at the mill, A man named John Nichols. He says his daughter, Elise, didn't come home last night. And she didn't show up at school today either."

*

A logging truck hauling an empty load made its way towards its destination for its next haul, nimbly rolling on the sideroads surrounded by thick forests of winter skeleton trees. He drove carefully as the roads were still wet in places where the remaining snow melted, forming puddles that could hide potholes beneath them.  
As the driver drove around a horseshoe bend, he saw someone step out onto the road a few hundred feet ahead. The driver hit the brakes and downshifted frantically. The engine whined in protest. The wheels of the big rig screeched. Through the windshield the driver stared in horror as the truck closed rapidly on the figure of a young girl, standing in the middle of the road, dazed, bruised and cut, wearing only dirtied bra and panties. Truck finally lurched to a halt only a couple of feets away from the girl. Her brutalized face opened into a silent scream.

*

A tan sedan drove up towards Twin Peaks. It passed a sign that read: "WELCOME TO TWIN PEAKS. POPULATION 5,201."Behind the wheel was FBI field agent Will Graham, mid-thirties, with a brown lock of curly hair, stubbled face and blue-green eyes.

He activated and spoke into a microphone attached to his lapel, connected to a small, Walkman-sized tape recorder clipped to his belt.  
"Clarice, it's 2:15 in the afternoon, February 24th. I'm now Entering town of Twin Peaks. Five miles south of the Canadian border, twelve miles west of the state line. Had a lunch at a place called Lamplighter Inn, that's on Highway 2 near Lewis Fork. Damn good food. And if you ever get up this way, Clarice, that cherry pie is worth a stop. Okay," Will looked for his notes on the passenger seat:  
" I'll be looking for a ... 'Sheriff Jack Crawford' and, he's going to be at... 'the Calhoun Memorial Hospital' with that girl they pulled off the mountain. I'll be checking into a motel after we're through there. Sure the Sheriff'll be able to recommend a good place. " He turned off the microphone. Then turned it back on again:  
" Gotta remember ask how's the fishing around here." He turned off the microphone.

The rest of the drive went quickly as the town was relatively small. Will could find his way easily to the hospital and it took only twenty minutes before he drove up to the Calhoun Memorial Hospital, got out of the car and walked to the entrance where he was greeted by Sheriff Crawford, a heavy built man with a rather honest but morose look about him. Crawford took off his hat and offered his hand to shake which Will did, keeping his eyes around the man's broad shoulders and jawline, avoiding having to look straight into the man's eyes.  
"Sheriff Jack Crawford."  
"Will Graham, FBI."  
"Good to have you here. We got lucky that Elise Nichols stepped out across the state line. Whole town's really badly shaken up - "  
"Sure, it is a nice place but let me stop you for a second, Sheriff. " Jack looked at the young agent, who still avoided eye-contact with him. Rather odd, Jack thought but city-folk were usually a bit odd to him.  
"There's a few things we ought to get straight since we'll be working together here on out. I've learned this the hard way and it's better to talk it out up front. When the Bureau gets called in, the Bureau's in charge. You're going to be working for me and sometimes the local law enforcement has a problem with that." After a beat he added as if in an afterthought: "Hope you understand." The agent spoke with a no nonsense tone but looked a bit awkward afterwards, like he didn't like what he had to say but said it anyway.  
Crawford didn't hold it against him. His unapologetic honesty was a quality he liked. "Like I said," Jack spoke in an amicable tone and gave the agent a small smile: "we're glad to have you. "

Will simply nodded at that and they walked into the white hospital building, going past waiting room and a front desk, skirting around the few medical staff going around with their business. Everyone stared openly at them but also greeted them eagerly as they passed by. Jack simply nodded to those who greeted but didn't stop, only walked quickly forward as Will tried to keep up with the man's large steps.  
"Can somebody get me your coroner's report on the dead girl while we're in with the witness?" Will asked as they approached to what he figured would be their destination, a small room in the back of the hall.  
"'Haven't done the autopsy yet. We can go downstairs to the morgue when we're done here. "  
"Fine. What've you got from Elise so far?" Will asked as they stopped.  
There was a policeman stationed outside the room they were headed into. There was an older couple Will guessed to be the Nichols and one teenage boy, sitting on a bench by the door, the brother of the hospitalised girl, Will surmised.  
Jack turned to him, putting his hand over Will's shoulder as he leaned in and spoke in a quieter voice, trying not to let the upset parents hear them: "She hasn't said a word since we found her. She's been unconscious since she was brought here. It doesn't look good."

As they entered the room, they looked a unconscious Elise Nichols, who laid in a white hospital bed, an IV in her arm, hooked up to monitor and attended by two of the staff. Seeing them, the attending physician, an attractive, middle aged blonde woman, moved towards them from the bed, holding a file of charts on her hands.  
"Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier", Jack gestured towards her then at Will, "this is FBI Agent Will Graham."  
She merely nodded at Will, neither of them offering their hands.  
"Nice to meet you." Will took in the woman in a doctor's white coat. She was beautiful but her expression and body language were also very cold: her face was a mask of politeness, her eyes showed only mild curiosity. Typical doctor, Will thought. Probably very efficient in her profession but she had the emotional range of a snail.

"Doctor. How's the girl?" Jack asked, moving to stand on the foot of the bed as Will followed, examining the young teenager with brown, long hair. ('Mall of the America. Just like the dead girl.')  
"She's in shock. Suffering from exposure."  
"Was she raped?" Will interrupted without any modicum of social skills but Dr. Du Maurier didn't show it if she was annoyed: "Yes. More than once. "  
"One perpetrator? "  
"We're waiting for the tests."  
Will leaned towards Jack, intentionally leaving the doctor out as he asked in a low tone:  
"Any connection to the murdered girl? "  
"Same high school. As far as we know they hardly knew each other. "  
Will turned towards doctor Du Maurier again: "Can I question her? "  
"I'm sorry, agent, Ms. Nichols hasn't woken up since she was brought here. It is doubtful she will waken any time soon. " Both men looked at her questioningly. Bedelia cocked her head as she looked at the unconscious girl, like she was considering something.  
"We need a CAT scan and we are not equipped for that here. My opinion is there may be neurological damage. She's not responsive. And when she wakes up, if she does, the trauma might make her unable to recollect what was done to her."  
"I'd like to look at her fingers". Will said abruptly, cutting the doctor's speech since he had already heard all he needed to know.  
Doctor du Maurier and Crawford exchanged a look before she nodded: "All right."

Will moved to stand next to Elise. Her eyes were closed, brown lashes against a fair skin which looked sickly pale in the light of the halogen lamps. There were bruises and gauzes over the injuries that covered parts of her face.  
Will picked up her left hand, looking closely at the wrists, seeing the distinctive marks of ropeburns, other angry looking bruises and gauzes covering the rest. He immediately looked very closely at her jagged fingernails.  
"We already scraped for particles."  
" That's not what I'm looking for." Will muttered, moving the hand in his grasp even closer to his face: "Nothing here ..."  
Suddenly Elise let out a small drugged, horrified whine: " Don't go there ... "  
Doctor du Maurier moved quickly to her side: "Elise?" She put her folder down onto a small table next to the bed before she fished out a small medical pen light, delicately pulling the girls eyelids open one after another and shining the light into them to look at the pupils.  
"Elise? " Will asked in a gentle tone, still holding the girls limp, cool hand as the girls eyes flickered under her eyelashes before closing again. A single tear ran down from her eye.  
"I think your time is up, she needs to rest." Du Maurier said with her calm tone of voice and Will put the girls raised hand gently back on the bed, before the two men walked out of the room.  
"Where's the morgue?"  
Jack waved his hand towards the elevators: "This way."

Before they got to the elevators a tall man in a stylish suit walked towards them, slowing down as he noticed Jack, giving him a mildly surprised smile: "Sheriff", the man spoke with a pleasantly smooth, accented voice.  
"Doctor Lecter, fancy seeing you here", Jack smiled a friendly smile, before turning towards Will, who kept looking at the tall man's shiny leather shoes.  
"I was asked to consult on the case of young Ms. Nichols by doctor Du Maurier, I suspect you're here to see her as well", the man continued talking to Jack but Will could feel the stranger's ('doctor something or another's') eyes on him, taking him in brazenly, but he wouldn't look at his face to be sure if he was just imagining the intense stare, but he could feel his skin prickle.  
"As talented as Dr. Du Maurier is, the psychological damage will be up to me to diagnose", the doctor continued, "as soon as the brain scan is done and the girl wakes up, of course."  
"That's good, we'll need her help eventually. It was optimistic to think we could've spoken to her today, " Jack said before he stepped aside a little to leave Will face to face with the tall man.  
"Doctor, this is Will Graham from the FBI."  
Will glanced briefly at the doctor's face, taking in the information it told him: the high cheekbones, sensual looking lips, the whole pleasant & neat appearance, but he was a bit taken back when he noticed the same kind of neutral facial expressions as with the doctor Du Maurier. It striked him as odd, but he tried to dismiss it as doctor's being doctor's; rather cold people in general.  
"A pleasure to meet you, agent Graham", the man said, almost purred, and offered his hand, which Will took though a bit hesitantly.  
"Likewise", Will said as he felt the warm, strong grip of the man's hand before they departed.  
A slight pause before Lecter spoke, head slightly cocked to the side:  
"Not fond of eye contact, are you?"  
Will unapologetically continued to avoid eye contact. Just stared at the man's deep blue tie now:  
"Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough",Will said but couldn't help to add: "And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So I try to avoid eyes whenever possible." He could hear Jack take breath in as if a gasp but Lecter gave a small good-natured chuckle. He wasn’t easily deflected.  
"I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your  
associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love."  
That man, that Hannibal Lecter had just described Will Graham to a letter. Damned if  
he was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.  
Will didn’t appreciate the intrusion into his psyche:  
"Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed. Now if you’ll  
excuse me, we have a date with a corpse." Will turned to the elevators to push the button for a hasty escape when Jack finally spoke: "Maybe you shouldn’t poke him like that, doctor." "I’m sorry, agent Graham. Observing is what we do. I can’t shut mine off any more than you can shut yours off."Will barely acknowledged the man's presence, just kept looking at the elevator numbers going down. "I hope we'll run into each other again, agent. Good day to you both." That said Hannibal Lecter bowed his head slightly before walking away and Will nearly rushed inside the elevator. He could feel sweat gathering on his forehead.

Jack looked sideways at Will to see the annoyance on the man's face and pondered if he should let it go or try to defend the good doctor to the agent. He decided the latter:  
"Hannibal Lecter is a good man, excellent psychiatrist, perhaps even more excellent cook but he is s bit eccentric." Jack shook his head at that.  
Will nodded absentmindedly, not really caring.  
"If anyone can help Elise Nichols to recover from what was done to her and to talk to us, it will be him."  
Will didn't comment on that. He watched the floor indicator numbers light up, going down as the elevator descended. The doors opened as they descended to the basement level.

Beverly Katz was shifting through some paperwork as the two men walked into the corridor outside her glass door office. Jack noticed her through the glass and came to the door, giving the doorframe a cursory knock. "Hi, Beverly."  
Beverly rose from her seat and stepped around the table to greet them. "Hi, Jack." She turned her head to Will.  
"This is Will Graham of the FBI."  
Will and Beverly shook hands and Beverly smiled good-naturedly when she noticed that the rather attractive agent didn't look her in the eyes. ("Shy, maybe?')  
"Nice to meet you, this is my first time meeting an actual FBI agent. It would be exciting if not for the unfortunate circumstances."  
Will gave her a wan smile.  
She turned to Jack and gave him an almost exasperated look: "Before you ask again, Jack, no, I haven't started the autopsy yet. I thought I'd wait for you before I started." Jack nodded, suppressing his own smile.  
"Well" Beverly clasped her hands together and smiled at the men, "let's get to it then, if that's alright with you agent Graham?"  
"Yes, but, please, just call me Will."  
Beverly grinned: "Alright then, Will."

She walked past them gesturing her hand for them to follow. They walked past a row of doors until they stopped in front of one, that had a sign of "morgue" on it. Bright overhead lights popped on as she turned on the lights and they stepped into the cool air-conditioned room. There was a low, vibratory throb of humming rnachinery. They walked to a stainless steel examination table in the middle of the white-tiled room, where Abigail Hobbs's body lay on the table, covered by a shroud of cloudy plastic. Will immediately walked next to the table and took her left arm out from under the cover to examine her fingers. Beverly raised her eyebrow:  
"We did scrape the nails when she came in." Will saw something under the nail of her ringfinger and whispered almost inaudibly: "There it is."  
Crawford came over to peer over the agents shoulder: "What? "  
Will glanced at Beverly: "Could you leave us for a moment, please." She looked at Crawford and he nodded. She shrugged her shoulders and exited the room without a protest.

Will nodded his head towards the nail of the cold hand he was still holding: "Sheriff, I need something to grab onto this. "  
Crawford looked through an autopsy tool tray, found and handed Will a pair of fine tweezers. Will separated the nail from the finger, worked the tweezers in, making Jack grimace, and dislodged a small, white speck from under the nail onto a stainless steel tray. Will laid the cold hand down, reached for his pocket and took out his microphone. He swung a mounted magnifying glass over the tray, pulled it down over the speck and turned on its attached light. He clicked the microphone on: "Clarice, it's 3:27 PM, Twin Peaks County Morgue. With the body of the victim: Abigail Hobbs. I got here before the autopsy. It's the same thing, Clarice, I told you I had a feeling we'd see this again ." He clicked the mic off.  
" What've you got there? " Crawford asked confused. But Will ignored him, he clicked the mic on again:  
"Ring finger. Under the nail. Let's see what he left us. "  
Using the tweezers, Will turned over the speck and revealed that it was a tiny piece of white paper which had printed on it the letter "R" . Will clicked the microphone on again: "It's an 'R'. Clarice, let's give this to Miriam and her team - don't go to Sam, Miriam is the one I want on this."

Will turned off the mic and turned to Crawford: "Need to bag and tag this. "  
Crawford, trying not to let his temper flare: "You gonna let me in on whatever the hell's going on here? "  
Will looked at the body on the steeltable:  
" Sheriff, we've got a lot to talk about - but after the autopsy. I'm going to send for our own forensics team here to do more thorough examination, but we should take a look now, confirm the cause of death and see whatever we can find that could help us immediately. Once we get to the station I'll tell you everything you need to know about this case, but it has to be need-to-know basis, no one else can know." Crawford wanted answers and he wanted them then and there but he relented and simply nodded his agreement. He went to fetch Beverly who didn't seem very happy to be told to go outside to wait but she was still eager to start the autopsy so she didn't complain, just narrowed her eyes at them. As Beverly started her familiar song and dance, preparing and performing the autopsy, both men stood silently further away, listening her recording her findings in her own microphone.

Afterwards she recapped the essentials to Will and Crawford, and she promised to send in her report as soon as possible.  
"Cause of death was the laceration of an artery on her pharynx but her entire body had multiple surface wounds that would've been estimated to cause hemorrhage that would've been fatal without medical attention. It's as if she'd been tortured to point of death, then finished off by cutting her throat. There were signs of rape or possibly rough intercourse." Crawford raised his eyebrows at that and Beverly raised her head in a defiant manner: "It's 1990, Jack. We need to try distinguish between the two."  
"Was there any semen?" Will asked, still looking at the body on the table, not yet sewn shut, so the pale red innards glew in the light making the girl look ethereal.  
"No, the water had erased most of the evidence. Maybe the FBI's team and fancy machines could scout something out but me--,"  
She sighed and gestured at the room and her basic tools, still covered in blood and viscera.

Will nodded, seemingly deep in thought: "Thank you, Dr Katz." Beverly looked at him and grinned: "Call me Beverly." Will nodded at that but didn't answer, he was still staring at the opened up body on the table and Jack wondered if the young agent was squeamish. He himself certainly was squeamish enough when watching a full autopsy on someone he knew, a kid whose parents he knew. But he had enough willpower to battle through his own discomfort. He wanted to know everything that might help them find the killer, the sooner the better.  
"Thank you, Beverly. Finish the report and send it to me." Jack checked his wristwatch: "I think we better head to the station."  
"Yes." Will said absently and walked out of the room deep in thought. Jack gave Beverly one last nod of his head before he walked after him.

Before they could get back into their own cars to start driving to the police station, Crawford signaled Will to stop when he heard his police radio going off: Jimmy Price was reaching for him, telling him that the trackers with their dogs sent out to where Elise Nichols had been found, had found something after following her tracks. Brian Zeller had asked Sheriff to get there asap and to "bring that hot-shot agent with you".

*

A number of Deputies and civilian volunteers, mostly local hunters, had followed the dogs, as they picked up the trail up the hill into the woods. Elise had walked several miles. She had apparently followed some less used freight train tracks that led to a graveyard of old, rusty freight trains. When Crawford and Will arrived there, most of the volunteers had already gone home. They found deputy Brian Zeller sitting on a large rock further away. He looked pale and upset, as he leaned his face into his hands. Jack took pity on the younger man and walked to him before he could get up, since the man looked like he might topple over if he did: "Sit down, deputy", Jack said gesturing with his hand for him to stay put: "Report back to the station, we'll take it from here." Brian nodded, looking a bit embarrassed but Jack turned away to give the man some space, understanding well how upsetting it would be for a young officer to see an actual murder scene. Jack and Will walked to the rusty corpse of a cargo train, which had been surrounded with police-tape. A deputy standing next to the open door gave them both a pair of flashlights and rubber latex gloves before they climbed inside.

It was almost pitch black inside, the beam of their flashlights swept slowly across the walls, revealing random patterns of dried sprayed blood. The light followed the trail of blood across a dirt covered floor and up a small, raised mound of blood-saturated dirt, which was obviously intentionally made little pile. On top of the mound was a piece of antler bone and just below it a small, folded piece of paper. Will knelt to read the text on the paper, lighting it with his flashlight. Behind him Crawford knelt closer as Will reached in with his gloved hand, gently turning over the note and reading the words written in blood: "FIRE. WALK WITH ME."

Will closed his eyes and let the pendulum swing behind his eyes.

_I took the two girls here from somewhere else. I took them both because it was convenient but also because I wanted them both. They were half naked and cold, small and defenceless so I was able to bring them with me, as I managed to tie their hands--_

_No._

_One oft them was defenceless. The other fought fiercely. I had to fight her, wear her out, hit her until I managed to incapacitate her long enough to tie her hands. But she fought to the end. Fought long enough that her friend managed to escape. I didn't notice it until too late because one of the girls was the one I truly wanted. She was the golden ticket, the others I had killed before were merely substitutes for her. But now I had the one I always wanted. But why now? I had hunted for months and killed girls who looked like her, but with this one I didn't want it to be over too quickly. She had to know first how much she meant to me. I slit her throat like... Like a throat of an animal. Quick and easy._

Pendulum stopped as Will went through the hints at the scene. He was missing the beginning.

Was she hurt before I got her? And where did I get her? Why was she half naked? I never raped or assaulted the girls. I loved those girls. I loved them so much I couldn't stand to let them go. Let her go.

Will's brows knitted together.

I slashed Abigail's throat, but what happened next? The other girl escaped, but why didn't I go after her? What does the poem mean? What's the significance of the antler bone? Something here doesn't fit.

Suddenly a hand came to squeeze Will's shoulder and he jumped. Crawford looked at him worryingly. Will's eyes flickered everywhere as he came back to the reality from the reconstruction of the crime scene.  
"Are you alright? You look ill."  
Will gave the man a less than reassuring smile and he wiped the sweat from his brow: "I'm fine." His voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears.  
"Let's process the crime scene. I'll call my team when we get back. Hopefully they'll find anything we might miss."

*

An hour later Crawford and Will Graham were seated at a table in the Sheriff's station conference room, examining the box of evidence that was taken from Abigail Hobbs's bedroom. Jimmy Price had secured them pots of fresh coffee & couple boxes of doughnuts, which they were happy to help themselves.

Will had made a call to the head office about getting his team to come the next day at earliest to investigate the freight train more thoroughly. Will was convinced they would find something , maybe hair or fabrics. They had photographed the scene throughly and collected the mysterious piece of paper and the piece of antler bone, but they needed to be handed to a team of forensics specialists, so Will turned his attention to go through the evidence he could interpreter .

Crawford took a video cassette out of the evidence box. Will looked at it with intense curiosity: "That's the tape you found in the video camera in Abigail's room. "  
"Right.  
Will put on a pair of thin, rubber latex gloves and looked into the box of Laura's belongings. "Did you complete all your forensics?"  
" Yes. "  
Will picked up Abigail's locked diary. "No key yet?"  
Crawford shook his head: "No."  
Will casually snapped open the feeble little lock, opened the diary and turned to the last entries. He activated his tape recorder: "Clarice, I've just opened Abigail Hobbs's diary. This is the last entry, dated yesterday, February 23rd. " He read:  
"'Cloudy. Sort of giddy. Not even cautiously optimistic. Asparagus for dinner again. I hate asparagus. Does this mean I'll never grow up'... Then she's written nine question marks." Will continues to read:  
"'Nervous about meeting 'M' tonight'... That's the last entree."  
Will glanced at Crawford: "That's something to get started on."  
Crawford wrote down the letter 'M'. Will turned back a few pages and read again.:  
"'Day fourteen. Indian summer. Picnic at Le Sparkwood Cafe - al fresco.'"  
As Will continued to thumb back through the pages, he found a small key inside a small, slit glassine envelope, taped to a page. His eyes widened slightly:  
"Clarice, I Just turned back eighteen days; it says here, 'Day One'. What we've got taped to the page here is a glassine envelope containing a white residue and what looks to be a key to a ... safety deposit box. "  
Will examined the envelope.  
"Sheriff, after you very carefully remove this key, we're going to run this envelope and my bet is it'll test positive for cocaine. "  
Crawford felt a flare of indignation: "That's impossible - "  
"You ever been surprised before?"  
"Agent Graham, you didn't know Abigail Hobbs--"  
Will merely hummed and held out the envelope which Crawford took even though he didn't like any of it, not one bit.  
"Get started on a court order to open her deposit box and maybe we'll both find out a few things about Abigail Hobbs."

Will took of the gloves and rubbed his face with his hands, without looking up as he spoke:  
"And I believe I told you before that I'd tell you about this case we're investigating, and I suppose now is as good as any. And you've got to keep this information tightly locked up. No one outside our investigation can know about it "  
"Of course", Crawford said sipping at his now luke warm coffee.  
Will raised his head to look up at the roof, when he continued: "Abigail Hobbs is the second known victim of this killer. The first known victim was a 18 year old girl, Teresa Banks, in a rural town of Deer Meadow, Washington state. Teresa's body was found week after her disappearance, wrapped in plastic, floating in the nearby Wind River. When autopsy was performed they found a small piece of paper stucked under her ring finger. It had the letter "G" written on it. Her death was leaked to the media but so far we've been able to keep the detail of the little papers with different alphabet letters as a secret. It's vital to keep it that way."  
Jack nodded at that. He knew enough of the work to understand simple things like keeping things secret from the press, but he suspected that any crooked cop could be bought to leak things like that to the press for some pocket money. Will's caution wasn't uncalled for so he didn't comment on it.  
"We got lucky that Elise got away from our killer. She got lucky."  
"Do you think she's safe from him?"  
Will considered it: "No. Our killer never wanted to be discovered. He struck at small towns and got rid of the bodies in places that were isolated. We don't know how many more victims there were, but the little papers that were left behind under the finger nails seemed to indicate that there were several more yet undiscovered. Also his methods were already skilled and meticulous. Only serial killers that have been killing for some time find their routine, their 'design' . They develope a calling card of their own."  
Will rubbed his eyes, feeling echoes of a headache coming on: "He wouldn't want to leave witnesses behind. He's been doing this too long. That's why I suspect Abigail Hobbs was special to him. He concentrated on killing her and that's why Elise got away."

They sat in silence. Only the distant sounds of the station could be heard muffled through the door.  
"We'll keep her safe."  
Will glanced at Jack, briefly making eye contact with the older man's warm brown eyes that were sincere and determined.  
('We're gonna catch this guy. With Crawford's help we'll surely catch him.') Will thought and could believe it. Serial killers almost always got caught but it wasn't just up to the imminent escalation of the killing or increasing recklessness but most of time it was men like Crawford who would caught them. Tenacious and dedicated. Once they got the whiff of their prey they would hunt them tireressly.  
Will gave him a brief smile and then turned to grab another set of latex gloves before he fished out the videotape from Abigail's room.

"Alright, let's watch the video tape", Will said to Crawford who went to turn on the VCR in the corner, sliding the tape inside. A picture appeared on the monitor. A slightly fuzzy picture of Abigail in a sunlit forest glade, having a Indian summer picnic on a red and white checked blanket. Someone is filming but there's no way to tell who.  
"Was Abigail seeing someone? " Will asked Crawford as he looked at the smiling pretty teenager on the TV screen. Her body language was relaxed but her face was sad despite the small smile on her lips.  
"We asked the Hobbs but they swore she wasn't dating anyone."  
Will nodded, still making eye contact with the girl's ghost on the TV screen.  
"What about friends? Did you ask any of her friends?"  
Crawford paused, and with slight hesitation: "No, not yet. We've had a really busy day and didn't have the time yet. We're kinda stretched too thin." He sounded apologetic but Will dismissed it.  
"That's our next objective then."  
Crawford nodded.

Will got up from his chair, stretched his stiff muscles that ached from all the sitting down: "Sheriff, I forgot to ask you; can you recommend me a good hotel or motel? It doesn't have to be fancy or anything as long as it's good enough to stay in for a while. " Crawford showed him a large smile; "I can get you a good rate up at the Great Northern hotel."  
Will gave a small smile back: "My guess is that I'm going to be here for a while and you know the area. All I need is a bed, a bathroom, a telephone and sometimes a television, in the unlikely event that one day I'll get a chance to knock off early. "  
Crawford nodded and got up from his seat: " Trust me, the Great Northern is the best place for that. I'll have Jimmy make the arrangements for you with the Hotel. "  
Will smiled more genuinely then: "Thanks, Jack." He looked at his watch. "Best for me to go, tomorrow is gonna be a long day and we'll start early. Have a good night, Sheriff."  
"You too, Will."

*

Night sounds and silence. A figure stood in the criss cross of lumber roads when another comes through the treeline, walking her bicycle. The girl, Marissa Schurr smiled, let her bike fall as she fell into Nick Boyle's arms, kissing him deeply.  
"I can't stay for long, I just had to see you", she said, almost whispered, as Nick brushed the hair from her face.  
"How are you doing, really?"  
Marissa shrugged but withdrew from his arms and took a couple steps back. She crossed her arms around herself.  
"I was with her, I saw her last night. My mom thought we were doing our homework in my room but we went out. We were gonna go drinking but we had a fight on the way instead. She told me some things. About her, about herself. She said, 'There are things about me no one knows.'"  
Nick stepped closer and tried to gently pull her back into his arms: "What do you mean? "  
She shook her head, looking troubled, but let Nick pull her closer:  
"I'm telling you, there were things she was involved with, things she let herself get pulled into, things she thought I'd hate her for. She told me these things, then she said she wanted me to be a part of it, she wanted to be my friend but she couldn't be ... I didn't understand what she was talking about. " She shook her head again.  
" She wanted me to get high with her last night. She was different, she was on something. It was kind of like a nightmare. Nick, she was a different person. This is why I had to see you, it all makes some kind of terrible sense that she died, that someone killed her, I don't know, I can't explain it - " She buried her face on the boy's warm shoulder, thinking she might cry again soon:  
"I was her friend. I wanted to help her but whenever we got too close to it she always seemed scared and ashamed -" Marissa drew breath to calm herself, as Nick rubbed his hand against her back in soothing motion, listening while she poured out everything that had been troubling her: " I got really mad at her last night, she was screaming stuff at me, crazy stuff, people she was seeing, things that weren't there... Nick, she said something about someone getting killed -"  
" What? Who? "  
"She didn't say, I didn't know whether to believe any of it, half the time she wasn't making any sense, but then when they found her this morning ..."  
Marissa began to cry silent tears while Nick held her tightly.  
"She was hysterical, I couldn't calm her down, but she left saying she was going home and I couldn't get anything sensible out of her. I, I didn't know how to help her. Before she left she turned to look at me one last time: she was so sad. She sounded so desperate, I'll never forget it ... then she ran off ... that was the last time I saw her. I let her go and she died ... "  
She couldn't fight back the new wave of tears. She started to cry.  
Nick let her cry her heart out while he kissed the top of her head and spoke soothing words to her. When Marissa felt that all her tears were over at least for a while, she pulled away slightly and wiped her tears away with her hand.  
" I've got to go to the police. I'm gonna tell 'em what I told you. I don't know if it will help anything but I'm the only one who knows that Abigail had some terrible secrets. Something no one knew. I have to figure out a way to help catch the guy who murdered her."  
"Can I do anything? Let me come with you to the station?"  
Marissa smiled at him gently.  
"I'd like that. Maybe if we talk to all the people she knew in school we might find something. We have to find the guy who sold her drugs. I didn't even know she was using. She always seemed so normal and not like she was last night..."  
"We'll figure this out, together. We'll start tomorrow: I can give you a ride to the station and you can talk to the cops, ok?"  
Nick kissed her and she smiled happily into it.  
"I think I might love you, Nick."  
Nick grinned at her and leaned in to kiss her long and hard, showing her that he thought he might love her too.

*

When Will was gone, Crawford went to his office, where he had still plenty of paperwork left but his phone rang before he could get very far, as Jimmy called him from the switchboard.  
"Sheriff, just got a call from Mrs. Packard up at the Lodge of a possible prowler?"  
Crawford smiled to himself: "Probably raccoons in the garbage again. I'll take it, tell them I'm on my way. "  
Crawford headed out with haste.

His cruiser turned off the steep road and into the driveway of Blue Pine Lodge, the log-cabin Packard homestead. He parked near the rear of the house, exited the car and moved towards the house. As Crawford neared the kitchen door, Phyllis Packard opened it. Her smile was radiant: "Hello Sheriff. "  
"Hey, Bella", Jack smiled fondly at the beautiful woman as she stepped aside to let him in.  
" I understand that there's a prowler up here. " He raised his eyebrow giving her a playful smirk.  
" Yes there is. Right over here. " She pulled him the rest of the way in, turned off the lights and in the dark, they kissed passionately. Phyllis ("my lovely Bella") let out a content sigh: "I've been wanting to do that all day. "  
Crawford smiled at her as he gently stroked  
her dark curly hair, enjoying her fragrant scent, ("like earth after thunderstrike.")  
They kissed again before they pulled apart and she leaned her head against his shoulder. He held her tightly.

They were standing in front of a large picture window, with a view looking down over the lights of the Packard saw mill on the Black Lake. They were both looking out into the moonlit night, sharing their warmth as the silence between them grew gloomier. Bella spoke finally, as they stood there holding one another:  
"I used to think it was so peaceful here. But everything's changed. Do you feel it?" He kissed her forehead. " Can anything ever be the same again?" She whispered. "It must've happened around this time last night... That poor girl. I can barely stand to think of it."  
"Then let's not. Just for tonight let's not think about it." Bella turned to look at him, before she silently took his hand and they started their way to the bedroom, hand in hand.

*

Will collapsed onto the large bed in his quite decent hotel room at the Great Northern hotel. It was a very nice, clean room with pine board walls and floors, and the mild but pleasant scent of pine needles and sap. The bed was comfortable and the feel and smell of clean sheets felt wonderful,and as he laid there he could feel his eyelids grow heavier by the second. For once he could believe that he might actually get a good night's rest instead of restless night of nightmares and sweating.

He wearily toed off his shoes and reached for his pants pocket for his mic, clicking it on:  
"Clarice, remind me to send you a gift basket of some sort for taking care of my dogs in my absence. I suspected I might have to stay here for a while but something about this case doesn't feel right to me. I fear my previous estimates might have been too optimistic. Thank you though. I mean it." A gentle smile creeped up over Will's face and he shut off the mic, was about to put it away but then thought better of it and pushed the mic on again: "and don't overfeed Buster. "

*

Thick woods. Sound of footsteps treading softly though the brush as Marissa walked back towards home, pushing her bike as she took her usual shortcut through the woods. The bike's little flashlight beam showed her the way, so she could see any tree roots and step safely over them. She was tired, devastated but also happy which was a very odd mixture of feelings to be felt all at the same time. Abigail's death had broken her heart but she also felt so much love for Nick that it filled her heart to bursting. It was like the most beautiful dream and the most awful nightmare all at the same time. She didn't hear it, when suddenly someone appeared behind her. A gloved hand reached for her neck as it snaked around it, seizing her. She didn't have time to scream, then she didn't have air to scream. The flashlight and bicycle fell onto the ground.  
Somewhere in the thick silence of the dark forest a lonely owl hooted.


	2. The mongoose and the snake

Will dreamt that he was walking in a thick dark forests of Twin Peaks. He could hear someone or something following him, something very large but he didn't turn to look. Beyond the trees he could see the train graveyard with its wreckages but he could also see a dim light coming from inside the cargo freighter where Abigail Hobbs had been murdered. Whatever the thing following him was, it was still there, letting out heavy steams of breath, which sounded like snorting. It must be some kind of a large animal. Will climbed inside the train. Abigail Hobbs was sitting on the dirt floor with a flashlight in her hands. On the floor in front of her was a dead deer - no, it wasn't dead yet. He could see its chest rising slowly.  
Abigail looked at him timidly. Will sat down across from her. Looking at both her and the deer, which laid still, breathing heavily like it was dazed or asleep. Abigail reached across the deer: she had a large hunting knife on her palm, she was offering it to Will. Will looked at the knife and the girl hesitantly, but took it.  
"Eating her is honouring her, otherwise it's just murder."  
Will blinked at her, confused, but Abigail only watched him in silence. Will rose to his knees, hands moving towards the deer between them, slowly caressing the warm body, feeling the soft fur beneath his fingers as he reached to its neck. He grabbed the knife more firmly and pressed it against the deers throat. With one smooth wet slide he cut its throat. But the deer was no more: it was Abigail who laid on the dirt gasping for air as her blood flowed out from the slit throat. Will panicked, dropped the knife and tried to stop the blood flow with his hands as the girl made horrifying gurgling noise.

Will woke up gasping for air.

*

After a hot shower and a handful of aspirin, Will Graham sat down at a corner table in the dining room of Great Northern hotel, holding a fresh, hot cup of coffee, as a waitress stood by with a pen, ready to take his order and smiling so radiantly that Will felt unreasonably annoyed with her and her perky attitude since he did not share it and didn't care for it in the early hours of the morning. It had been a bad idea to eat breakfast there. He should've just left for the station, but he hadn't eaten anything since the doughnuts last evening and he was actually quite hungry.

  
"I'd like the eggs and bacon, and orange juice--," Across the room, out of sight, Margot Verger, brown wavy hair and pale blue eyes observed as Will ordered. She slipped into her beguiling role as she smoothly walked across the dining room to Will's table.  
Will was finishing his order "--as long as those oranges are--" when he looked up and locked eyes briefly with her before hastily dropping his eyes lower, coming to a halt exactly at her cleavage: "--are freshly squeezed".  
The Waitress departed. Margot put her hands on the back the chair opposite of Will, smiling as Will dropped his eyes safely to the coffee cup in front of him.  
"My name is Margot Verger."  
Will hesitated for a moment, remembering hearing the name "Verger" before.  
"I'm special agent Will Graham of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."  
"May I sit here? "  
" Miss Verger, unless I'm mistaken, you're the owner of this establishment, so I guess you can sit anywhere you like."  
Margot's smile faltered a little at that but she recovered quickly and took her seat, still observing Will and smiling benignly.  
"Actually my brother Mason is the owner, I had the wrong parts and proclivities to be allowed to own anything with the Verger- name."  
Will was stunned at her straightforwardness but didn't dislike it.  
"How may I help you this morning miss Verger?"  
"Just thought I would stop by to introduce myself and offer you any assistance you might need on behalf of my brother as well as myself." When Will frowned at that she continued: "This is a very tight knit community - for better and worse. Everybody knows everybody. There's private carnage behind the idyllic front yards & white picket fences. But I'm sure you'll find that out by yourself soon enough."Will sipped his coffee as he considered that, observing Margot's profile when she looked through the large windows showing a majestic scenery beyond.  
"One more friendly advice, if you'll indulge me", she said and looked at Will again. Will swallowed his mouthful of coffee and felt it burn his mouth.  
"If possible, avoid my brother, Mason. He's got emotional problems", she gave Will a shrewd smile: " it runs in the family. "  
Then the waitress returned with Will's breakfast and Margot rose from her seat. "Do not hesitate to approach me if you might require anything; information, gossip or just company. See you around, agent."  
Will was left puzzled staring after the swaying hips of Margot Verger, feeling that something was amiss and wondering if she knew something about the murder of Abigail Hobbs or if there was something else, equally ominous out there she had hinted at.

*

Hannibal opened the door to his office and gave Margot a polite smile: "Good morning, Margot, please come in."

Margot sat opposite from doctor Lecter, absently rubbing her shirt cuffs that hid new set of bruises - another gift from Mason. More physical this time. Mason enjoyed emotional torture more, but the latest failure to get Norwegian investors to commit to their Ghost wood project had left Mason in a very bad mood. Also week ago she had tried to kill her brother and was still paying for that offence. Her only regret was that she failed.

"We all have a gauge for humanity that twitches when we see another person. Tell me, Margot, what twitches when you see your brother?"

"Not my gauge for humanity."

"You don't recognize in your brother basic human traits. You dehumanize him as much as he dehumanizes you."

She twisted her red lips into a sneer:  
"At least I'm never going to be the worst person I know."  
Hannibal cocked his head as he studied her:  
"The tendency to see others as less human than ourselves is universal."

"My brother is less human."

"And you are less human for it."  
She wasn't offended, but poked back:  
"Did you just dehumanize me?"

"Psychiatrists who dehumanize patients are more comfortable with painful-but-effective treatments, and experience better results."

"You're very supportive of me killing my brother. I appreciate the support, I really do. But I can't help but to wonder why?"  
"Why do you think that is?"  
Margot shook her head and looked to her left, the view from the tall windows blocked by white, red lined curtains.  
"I met the FBI agent this morning", she said instead of going further with poking at Lecter. She suspected it wasn't very safe thing to do. And she did appreciate his support. She truly did. If she wasn't concerned with his motives she could've thought him as an ally. Her only ally actually.  
The mention of the agent seemed to peak Lecters interest: "What was your impression of him?"  
Margot shrugged her shoulders.  
"What Mason had digged up about him suggests he's good at his job, but I don't think he can last very long if he looks under the shiny surface of this town and garners the attention of the wrong kind of people."

*

Deputy Zeller took a big bite of his powdered doughnut just as Will Graham walked through the front door, they nodded at each others way.  
"Morning, Deputy. "  
Brian with his mouth full of doughnut: "Good morning, Agent Graham. "  
Price, at the coffee station was holding a pot and a cup, turned to face Will, with a doughnut stuck in his mouth.  
"Morning, Jimmy."  
"Agent Cooper," the man's speech was muffled as he tried to chew and swallow the doughnut blocking his mouth: " take a doughnut if you want and the Sheriff's down the hall in Interrogation room with Beverly. "  
"Thanks."  
He moved down the hall and entered the room where Crawford and Beverly were sitting around a table chugging down coffee. Beverly was holding a humongous bearclaw, and was about to take a humongous bite from it when she saw Will and gave him equally huge smile: "Good morning, Will."  
Will nodded at both and took his seat next to Crawford.  
"Morning, Beverly here decided to bring her autopsy report in person." He pushed the file of papers to Will who fished out his glasses before he turned the file open and started to view its contents.  
"That, and I knew Price would buy doughnuts again so it wasn't entirely all business this time."

Will consumed the information as greedily as Beverly bit into her bearclaw, before she swallowed and spoke - now all business:  
"Time of death estimated to be between midnight and four a.m. What killed her was loss of blood. Numerous shallow wounds but cause of death was slit artery on the neck. There was also bite marks on her tongue - probably self-inflicted. Lesions on wrists, ankles and upper arms, where she was bound. We're waiting on toxological tests for drug use. Within the last twelve hours of her life, she had sexual relations with one man. It's hard to tell if it was rape or simply rough enough intercourse to leave some bruised tissue."  
Will took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands.  
" And you've examined Elise Schurr as well?"  
Beverly nodded: "Yes. Wound patterns are consistent. In my mind, there's no question the same perpetrator attacked them both. And there was similar signs of sexual abuse."  
"It's still unclear when, if ever, Elise would be able to talk to us," Jack said with some frustration.  
Will put his glasses back on:  
"She suffered a severe head injury according to doctor Du Maurier, but the bigger problem could be the psychological damage, probably witnessing what happened to Abigail before she... "  
"I think we should call doctor Lecter and ask him what his conclusions are from yesterday's visit to the hospital."  
Will made a face at that but Jack didn't notice:  
"We've also arranged a town meeting for tonight at eight. We made a public announcement for a curfew that started last night but it would be best to lay rest some of the concerns people have regarding to the murder and the kidnapping of Elise." Will sighed with a deep reluctance but agreed. "Sounds good. The person who committed these crimes is still out there. We're on a clock here."

The interrogation room's phone rang and Jack pressed the call through: "What is it Jimmy?"  
"Agent Graham, I've got a call for you from a 'Miriam Lass'. " Will reached for the phone:  
"Put her through."  
Will picked up the phone and Jack gestured for Katz to leave. She made exasperated gestures but left, making one last 'call me' signs at them both.  
"Miriam, are you on your way? Good. You can have the body all day tomorrow ... no, can't do it, they're going to bury her on Monday ... I know but I have faith in you. Alright, see you tomorrow. "

Just when Will ended the call Brian Zeller bursted into the room, pale and a little bit of powdered sugar on his nose: "Jack", he croaked, "there's been another body!"

*

The body was out on a field thirty miles from Twin Peaks. It was put into an area, where it would be found, as it was a hotspot for birdwatchers and joggers according to Jack.

The area had been closed off. The body of a young girl was impaled on a head of antlers. She was fresh enough that the murder of crows around it hadn't had enough time to cause much damage to it. To Will they reminded him of guests at a dinner table. "I feel like I’m dreaming," he mumbled to himself. Brian Zeller and few other officers were taking pictures and combing through the surroundings for forensic evidence. Jack and Will stared as Beverly attempted to shoo the crows away from the body.

"He wanted her to be found this way. "  
Jack turned to look at Will.  
"It’s the homicidal equivalent of fecal smearing. It’s petulant. I almost feel like he’s mocking her. Or he’s mocking us." Jack turned back to look at the body, trying to see it as Will did. But all he could see was a teenage girl taken way before her time.  
"Whoever kidnapped Elise Nichols and murdered Abigail Hobbs wasn't behind this."

Beverly looked up from the girls mounted corpse, she was pale:  
"He took her lungs. I think she was still alive when he cut them out."  
Will finally turned away, pinched his eyes close and took several deep breaths.  
"This killer treated her like a, a pig. The one who killed Abigail killed in secrecy, somewhere private and didn't take risks; he didn't want to be found. He had no interest in 'field Kabuki'. If not for Elise Nichols' escape he wouldn't have left her as a possible witness."  
Jack considered that: "She looks the same as Abigail and Elise: same built, same haircolor and age-range.  
Will shook his head: "Yes, but the method is different. Everything about this victim is different. Whoever did this is an intelligent psychopath,  
particularly a sadist. He will be hard to catch. There won't be no traceable motive. There’ll be no patterns. And he may never kill like this again."

*

They returned to the station after the crime scene had been processed and the body of the unknown girl had been collected to the county morgue. Beverly set to start the autopsy and promised to have the report as soon as she was finished.

Will mulled over the new situation they had found themselves in. He had called it in to his supervisor and had gotten a rather peculiar advice, one he didn't want to take but also couldn't disobey: "Maybe we should visit that psychiatrist, that uh, doctor Lecter."  
Jack gave him a grim look over his coffee cup as they stood over by the coffee machine.  
Will shrugged. "I'd like to hear a professional opinion about this new killer, and hear his opinion about Elise Nichols condition. If she has witnessed the murder of Abigail Hobbs our chances of catching that person is good. If she didn't see anything or if she can't cooperate soon we'll have two killers in our hands and not enough leads so far. We'll need all the help we can get."  
Jack nodded. "I'll call him and make an appointment."

*

Zeller gave them a report about the testimony of Elise Nichols parents before they headed out. Brian had interviewed them after they had left what they all now called "field kabuki". The last time her parents had seen her had been in the evening. She had gone to school, from there she had gone to her part-time job at Verger department store and she came home around six o'clock, they had dinner and Elise went to bed at nine. Because both the parents had a night shift at the Packard mill that night they didn't notice she was missing until around midday when the schools had closed early and she never came home. After calling the school they found out that she hadn't been there that day.

They arrived to a small but opulent looking two storied Victorian styled house, which according to Jack had a separate space as an office for patients and the rest of the house were his private quarters. According to Jack he had visited the man a couple of times within the year as the man was locally known for his dinner parties. Jack also told him that Hannibal was originally from Lithuania and had been living in Twin Peaks only two years but was well loved and respected amongst the locals. He had come to fill the space left by the previous psychiatrist, but had another house and business somewhere in Baltimore. According to Lecter his current situation was to be temporary one and he'd return to his clinic in Baltimore as soon as it was convenient. Will tried to pay attention to all that but he couldn't stop replaying the scene on the field in his mind. It was like two different killers had come out to play when there was supposed to be only one. To Will it didn't seem like an coincidence. The newest body was like a letter to their killer with the surface similarities amongst the victims except the message of this killer was aimed at the police and at Will himself probably. 

When Jack knocked on the door to doctor's office, as he explained that the door in the side of the house was for patients and the front door for friends, as Hannibal had explained it, Will suddenly felt nervous. He felt like they needed new eyes for the case that got suddenly considerably more complicated but he also worried that he would get psychologically ambushed again.

The door opened and the tall man with broad shoulders, impressive looking suit, impeccably styled silver-blonde hair and dark eyes greeted them with a polite smile: "Jack, agent Graham, please come in."

They walked into a small reception area with couple of chairs, as Hannibal led them inside the office actual. Will took in the tall bookcases, tall windows and very stylish interior which screamed wealth, style and power. Somehow he hadn't expected the space to be so... un-psychiatric? Vain, like something from an interior designer magazine. Usually offices were made to feel comfortable , bright and intimate but this large space was giving the opposite feelings. For a moment Will wondered about it, making deductions and forgetting why they were there.  
But Jack was taking the lead which was a good tactic, Will surmised. After all they were friends and Lecter might be more agreeable towards him instead of Will. Considering that he hadn't been especially polite and agreeable with the doctor.

"Please, take a seat." Hannibal gestured at the seats and all three sat down. "Can I get you anything?"  
"No thank you, like I explained on the phone we came to ask you about Elise Nichols and after that we have another thing we'd," Jack glanced at Will who looked away, "need your help. There's been another murder."  
"Another murder?"  
"Yes."  
Hannibal seemed to organize his thoughts before he crossed his legs and spoke: "According to doctor Du Maurier the girl has been concluded to be physically intact as the CAT-scan didn't reveal any damage. It's the girl's state of mind which now worries her. And I agree that she's shut down into a catatonic state because of the trauma she went through. She will not be ready to answer any questions for quite a while I'm afraid."  
Jack let out a frustrated sigh. Will's fingers fidgeted on his lap.  
"Feared as much", Jack grunted.  
Hannibal simply observed the two.  
"As soon as she is ready to wake up I will start with assessing her mental state and we'll go from there, but it will take time." Hannibal looked from one man to the other:  
"So, what is the other case you wanted to talk about?"

Jack looked at Will who sighed and leaned forward: "We were hoping you could keep what we're about talk about a confidential."  
Lecter nodded solemnly: "I used to do a little profiling back at Baltimore to the local FBI branch."  
Will nodded, as that was what he had been told by his supervisor, and offered a file to Lecter, who took it without a question, opened it and started to look through the photographs of the yet unidentified girl impaled on a head of antlers.  
"I don’t think our killer killed that girl in the field. This was someone else, but the victim is exactly like the other murdered girls, Abigail Hobbs and Teresa Banks, she was uh, the first found victim. There's pictures of both known cases." Will pointed his finger at the file.  
Hannibal observed the pictures: " The devil is in the details. What told you that this was related to your killer but made by another one?""

Will took a long breath and let it out as he begun to speak: "Everything. It’s like he had to show me a negative so I could see the positive. That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped. Our killer didn't want to be known. But this one wanted us to know he wasn’t the killer we were after. He wanted us to know that he was better than that. He is an intelligent psychopath. He is a sadist. He will never kill like this again. He had intimate knowledge of the murder of Abigail Hobbs - and even possibly Teresa Banks. Enough to recreate them and arguably elevate them. To art."

Will didn't see Jack glancing at him with brows furrowed at the description he made. Instead his mind was trying to make connections with the evidence they had. Conjectures without proper answers: How intimately did this new killer know the one who had been killing teenage girls? Did he appreciate him from afar, or did he engage him? Did he ingratiate himself into his life? They didn't kill together and it didn't seem likely that they would but would they end up clashing together sooner or later or could they tolerate each others presence? Small town being too small for two killers to share the same hunting ground peacefully didn't seem likely.

Hannibal exhaled softly as he kept observing the young agent who had fallen silent. "I agree with your analysis of these crimescenes. They seem to have been done by two separate individuals. If you give me some time I could make a profile about these killers of yours?"

Will glanced at the man as he stepped out from his thoughts: "That would be good. Thanks doctor." Following Lecter's example the two men rose from their seats ready to leave but Lecter stopped at the door:

"I would love to have you both for dinner, would Friday evening at seven be alright for you?"  
Jack chuckled good-naturedly: "I'd love to be there but I can't promise that yet. You know how busy things can get even on a good day and this week has been anything but."  
"What about you, agent Graham? Would you do me the honor?"  
"Uh," Will couldn't think of an excuse not to, so he relented. Maybe he could figure out some excuse before Friday. "Sure."  
Hannibal smiled and to Will it looked like a predatory smile.  
"Excellent, in that case we'll speak later."

*

On their way to the station Zeller called the police radio telling them that they got a call from Mrs Schurr: her daughter had disappeared. She'd been working a weekend shift at her store and didn't notice anything amiss. When she left to work she noticed Marissa's bike gone so she thought Marissa had gone out as she often did. But when Mrs Schurr had returned home after work she couldn't find her and no one knew where she was.

Jack instructed Zeller to go talk to her and search for her daughter before filing a missing persons report. Will and Jack exchanged troubled looks.

"Don't tell me that we lost another girl this soon?"  
Will didn't answer.  
"Goddammit, I don't think I can take it. This isn't something we are used to. These type of things are big city problems. For all my career there hasn't been even one murder and now there's one and possible two!"

"There's only so much we can do, Jack, but we'll keep looking until we find our killers. Let's hope people are willing to follow curfew from now on." Will sighed and looked at the sunny spring weather shining serenely through the landscape as they drove. "The killer might be ahead of us but we're gonna catch this guy. Count on it."

*

As they arrived to the station they noticed couple of black SUV's parked at the entrance. Will and Jack shared a look.  
"I guess my team's here", Will said as they exited the car and went in.  
Will smiled as he noticed Miriam Lasses blonde ponytail but his smile faded when he noticed the other woman, who turned to look at him with her bright blue eyes, ('Alana Bloom...'):  
"Hi Will."  
For a moment Will's throat felt very dry. "Ma'am", he breathed and averted his eyes, trying to appear friendly and not as uncomfortable as he felt.  
"I didn't know you'd be coming along."  
Alana Bloom glanced at Jack, who was still standing next to Will and he realized that he should probably do the introductions:  
"Jack, this is Alana Bloom, head of the BAU, ma'am, this is the local Sheriff Jack Crawford." They shook hands and Alana introduced the forensics team with her. Miriam and Jack seemed to take liking to each other immediately as they started some small talk about the town, and Will could feel Alana's reproachful gaze but determinedly kept looking away.  
"Will, can I have a word?" Before Will could answer to Alana she turned to Jack: "Is there a room where I could exchange a few words with my agent?" Jack offered her his office as he started to give Miriam instructions how to get to the morgue where they would have to start as Abigail Hobbs was to be buried the next day.

Alana led Will to Jack's office. When they had entered, she wavered at the door for a second before closing it. Alana turned and gestured Will to sit down, which he did, while she stayed standing by the door.  
"I decided to come here myself as soon as you called about the new body out on the fields." She seemed hesitant and Will was already hoping to get this whole situation over with. ('If I could go back in time, I wouldn't have kissed her, if I'd have known all our interactions would end up to be like this one: fucking awkward and unnatural. Where she's uncomfortable, weighing her every word to not mistep and upset me, like some delicate little teacup. I wish I didn't hold a grudge against her because of it. I really wish I didn't.')

Alana drew breath and took the role of an authority again, straightening her posture and stopping the nervous fidgeting of her hands: "Did you speak with Hannibal Lecter yet?"  
"Yes, just before we came here."  
"And?"  
"He said it's unlikely we could get to interview Elise Nichols any time soon. So we don't technically have a witness at the moment. And since our time is short catching this guy, we'll have to focus our investigation elsewhere in the mean time."  
Alana crossed her arms, looking sternly at the floor, processing the information.  
"We'll hire Hannibal as a consultant on this case, on both cases, as I too suspect they're related. With any luck Miriam will be able to find something from the body of Abigail Hobbs or at the freight train- crime scene you found. Keep going through the leads you've gathered so far."  
Will nodded. He didn't want to work with Lecter but it seemed he was out of options.  
"Alright, you keep me posted, agent, and I'll go talk to Hannibal myself."  
She put her hand on the door handle and turned: "You look good, Will. The change of scenery looks good on you. Maybe after this case you'll rethink about taking your vacation days."  
Will gave her a humorless smile: "Maybe."  
She opened the door and left, leaving Will with his thoughts. The noise from the lobby outside faded away, as the agents left to continue their work elsewhere and Jack came knocking in: "You done over here?"  
Will smiled at the man: "Yeah."  
Jack came in and sat on his seat at his desk, sighing in relief when he stretched his legs: "Did she chew you out?"  
Will laughed: "No, no, just giving me the wrap-up. Business as usual. Except, uh, she's going to hire doctor Lecter as a consult."  
Jack's eyebrows rose in surprise but then he looked thoughtful and nodded: "That might actually be a good idea. He's perceptive and trustworthy. His help could prove valuable."  
Will didn't bother replying to that. Everyone seemed to like the man so what did his opinion matter. And his opinion was that he was perfectly capable of handling the case without Alana assigning him a chaperone. Because that's what it would probably be. Alana didn't trust Will, not entirely, after he had shot Cheasepeak Ripper -copycat, a man named Abel Gideon ten times. She suspected Will was becoming too unstable to work. And she definitely thought Will was too unstable to date.

"We got the search warrant for Abigail's safety deposit box, so if you're ready to go we should go take a look."  
Will woke from his thoughts, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger: "Yeah, let's get going.

*

They stepped inside the plain little bank and were led into a back room by a bank teller. She left and came back few minutes later after retrieving Abigail's safety deposit box and setting it on a table.  
The teller spoke in a small voice, peering shyly at them through her large set of glasses while she lingered in the room:  
" I knew Abigail, she was always so nice - "  
" When was the last time she came in? " Will asked as he started to open the box with the set of keys from Abigail's diary.  
"I'm sorry but I can't say, not exactly, there are so many boxes here - "  
"You don't keep records?"  
" Oh we do, but I'll have to check - "  
"Can you tell me how long Abigail has had the box? "  
"I'd say about six months, I could check that too for you - "  
"Thanks, ma'am, we'll take it from here."  
Will waited until the women had left the room before he opened the safety deposit box and reached inside to lift out the sole item inside. A magazine entitled: "Flesh World"  
Crawford exhaled: "Jesus..."  
Just touching the edge of the pages, Will leafed through the magazine. A thick, rubber-band wrapped packet of one hundred dollar bills fell out.  
Will examined it: "Over ten grand. I guess that explains the cocaine in her diary."  
He turned the magazine to a dog-eared page. Amongst the featuring ads and photographs of men and women, soliciting various sexually- oriented responses one of them had been circled. It was a low quality photograph of Elise Nichols in lingerie.

Jack stared at the new piece of information with severity and confusion. Will only glanced at him before he tapped the picture: "There's our connection between these two girls. "

*

"I missed your beer", Alana grinned as Hannibal offered her a pint of his own brew. Hannibal smiled benevolently at her: "And I missed your company."  
Her cheeks grew a lovely shade of pink under the kitchen lights and Hannibal turned to chop his portion of the vegetables as Alana started with her own.  
"How has it been, living in a small town like this?" Alana asked him while focusing on the cutting.  
"Interesting in its own way. Everyone knows everyone, it makes keeping secrets challenging", he gave Alana a flirtatious smile, making her shake her head in exasperated manner.  
"But it's refreshing certainly. I've met many interesting characters and felt like I've helped a lot of people, which has been rewarding. Sometimes more than at my previous reception in Baltimore. But I do miss some of my old proclivities." Hannibal said in a wistful tone. "After all, traveling to Seattle to see opera's and art exhibitions is a rather long travel."  
"I'm honestly surprised that you've felt so comfortable here to stay for two whole years." Alana looked at Hannibal with a teasing smile: "I would've expected you to get bored much earlier with being so far from the glamours of city life."  
Hannibal chuckled softly. "Yes, I am surprised often myself. If you'd asked me a year ago if I would remain here for another year, I would have admitted I was ready to return."  
Alana looked at him, tilting her head: "What changed your mind?" Hannibal smiled fondly to himself: "I suppose it was my patients who changed my mind eventually." She smiled at the answer, pleased, and they continued to cook in companionable silence.

After they sat down to eat, their discussion drifted towards Will Graham.  
"What he has is pure empathy and projection. He can assume your point of view, or mine --  
and maybe some other points of view that scare him. It’s an uncomfortable gift. Perception’s a tool that’s pointed on both ends."  
Alana sighed: "Yes, and fear is the price of his imagination."

"This killer you want him to know... I think I  
can help Will see his face."  
Alana shook her head: "I don't want him to know this killer - or any killers, but I can't just deny him from working or fire him because I fear for him. He won't move to a teaching position or anywhere else away from the field, but I fear he'll eventually reach his breaking point." She looked at Hannibal in a rather pleading way: "I'd feel so much better knowing someone's out there looking after him."  
Hannibal hummed in amusement as he regarded Alana: "Didn't know you to be so motherly. Or perhaps it's some other nature compelling you?"  
Alana laughed but her cheeks were charmingly flustered: "Yes, well, we kissed, once, but it wasn't a good idea. It happened sometime after Will had shot Abel Gideon, the Cheasepeak- copycat, and I suspected that he tried to anchor himself when he felt himself drifting. And I happened to be there for him."  
Hannibal listened silently, sipping his wine, allowing Alana to pour her heart out:  
"I admit there's something between us but I also have to admit that we wouldn't be good to each other. I hope he'll realize that one day."  
"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"  
Alana smiled sadly: "I suppose a little bit of both. But I didn't came here to bore you with my personal problems."  
"Alana, you're a dear friend, I will listen to anything you might wish to tell me."  
"Thank you, Hannibal." She smiled, a rather sad but relieved smile as well. Then her face grew more serious as she observed the man sitting across the table:  
"Why didn't we have an affair?"  
Hannibal smiled at that: "I do not know, perhaps because we are both dedicated to our work. And there never seemed to be any opportunities for anything more."  
Alana laughed merrily: "Tell me about it. I don't think I've ever been as busy as I am now as the head of the BAU. You wouldn't believe how much red tape I've had to deal with." She gave Hannibal a coy look: "Perhaps if you one day come back to Baltimore we could renegotiate the nature of our relationship."  
"Yes", Hannibal looked at her with a small smile, "if I'll return there ."  
"You'll think of staying?"  
"At least for some time. Until this matter of murders is resolved, and then to deal with the aftermath; help the healing process of a wounded society I am now part of."

After dinner they got ready to leave the to the Twin Peaks city hall in Hannibal's car, where Will Graham and Jack Crawford would be addressing the city council members.  
When they parked outside, a little way from the actual entrance, they noticed the local media with other unknown members of journalism milling about.

Before they exited the car, Hannibal called her name, and gently took her hand to give it an encouraging squeeze: "Do not worry too much about Will, I am qualified to help him. I intend to look after him and I promise he won't get too close to any danger."  
Alana smiled at him, her blue eyes shining in the gleam of street lights;  
"I know. Thank you, Hannibal. You’re the sanest man I know." She kissed Hannibal on the cheek and turned to exit the car.

*

A group of reporters were settled in front of the Twin Peaks city hall, and there was even a few television news crew trucks in front of the building. A redheaded sensationalistic reporter, Freddie Lounds, was recording a news video for her website "Tattlecrime": " I'm speaking to you tonight from in front of the Town Hall of Twin Peaks, where, just behind me, the City Council and Chamber of Commerce have called an emergency session to discuss the tragic events that have rocked this remote, peaceful community. How will the community react? We'll be here to bring that news to you as soon as it's available to us. "

*

Will hated making public appearances and it was very rare that he had to do them as the FBI had their own protocols for that sort of thing. But appearing before the concerned citizens to address the investigation that would require their participation in certain extent and to represent the FBI he had to sit next to Jack Crawford on a stage with the town mayor, and try to calm his nerves and be ready to address the City Council and Chamber of Commerce members, who were moving down the aisles, milling about, taking their seats.  
As the most prominent members appeared and took their seats Jack whispered to Will and named a few of them. A blonde man with round childish face and round glasses was introduced as Mason Verger, owner of several distinguished businesses in the area, like the Great Northern hotel and Verger department store, where Elise Nichols had worked. Seated near him were Katherine and Pete Martell, Pete being the older gent who had discovered the body of Abigail Hobbs.

Will noticed Jack's pause and catch of breath as a fourty year old dark skinned woman in elegant clothes walked in. Will glanced at Jack, then at the woman and back at Jack, as he noticed the man's reaction. His regularly stony face grew softer and his eyes followed the woman's movements a little too long until he averted his eyes and leaned over to whisper: "That's Mrs. Packard, she owns the Packard Sawmill." Will nodded: "Where's Mr. Packard? "  
"Died in a boating accident over a year ago. Andrew Packard practically built this town. Brought her back from Italy four years ago. Left her everything." Will saw Hannibal enter with Alana and felt his mood darken.

At the podium mayor of Twin Peaks, Franklyn Froideveaux, a chubby, bearded fifty year old man with stylish suit got to his feet and tapped the microphone with his fingernail.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please ... "  
Will saw Franklyn straightening his posture and suddenly the man was waving enthusiastically at Lecter, whose politely neutral expression seemed to fall slightly and Will had to clasp his hand over his mouth to hide the creeping grin.  
Franklyn cleared his throat before he continued: "We have all shared the grief ... The tragic death of young Miss Abigail Hobbs, so young and full of life. If you good folk wouldn't mind, I wrote a small poem in her memory", Will glanced at Hannibal, whose fists were clenched tight and he had to put his hand over his mouth again and for a moment he feared he might start laughing.

Franklyn took out a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, he opened it, straightened it and cleared his throat loudly:  
"Oh beauty, oh youth, how fleeting you are, such a delicate flower you are, fleeting and precious", Will glanced at Hannibal again, who was rubbing at his temple, and Will had to pinch his eyes closed for a moment, fearing for the laughter rising from his throat.  
Suddenly Hannibal raised his head and made direct eye-contact with Will. He furrowed his eyebrows first then raised them questioningly as he took in Will's barely concealed amused appearance then smiled at him warmly, making Will immediately avert his eyes.

A sudden yell from the crowd brought mayor's tedious poem to an abrupt end: "Get on with it, we haven't got all night!" Will looked at the man who had yelled, Mason Verger, who was smiling broadly and letting out bursts of laughter, like he couldn't help himself. Will could see that the man was unstable; there was a slight gleam of spittle on his lips and his eyes looked too large with a feverish gleam in them. He thought that speaking with Mason Verger at some later date might prove to be a good idea though by appearances the man didn't seem to fit the profile of at least their first killer.

The mayor Franklyn looked upset but Jack swooped in before anything else could happen, whispered something to the mayor who nodded defeatedly and took his seat, allowing Jack to take the stand: "Folks, I'll get right to the point. Abigail Hobbs was murdered and Elise Nichols barely escaped the same fate. When Elise turned up across the state line, this became a matter for the FBI. And after hearing what Agent Will Graham had to tell me, I, for one, am grateful for his and the Bureau's help. I think you'll feel the same way. Agent Graham?" He gestured to the microphone and Will rose from his seat, trying to calm his nerves with deep breaths as he took his place in the center of the attention:

"Evening, I'm special Agent Will Graham from the federal bureau of investigation. There are irrefutable similarities that for obvious reasons I will not specify, that lead us to conclude that Abigail Hobbs is the second, and Elise Schurr would have been the third victim, of the same killer. " A horrified murmur erupted in the room.  
" There is a chance that the person who committed these crimes is someone from this town, possibly even someone you know. You are the leaders of this community. It's vitally important that this does not turn into a witch hunt. I would like to propose that you enact some specific measures to protect the population of your town. I would propose a public service announcement over local media asking for any information regarding these crimes, with a hotline number, manned by volunteers or community-funded operators, to field and sort through these calls. An investigation like this can turn on the most seemingly insignificant piece of information. I would also strongly suggest that you keep the temporary curfew for those under eighteen years of age and girls from 18 to even 25 should be advised caution; preferably not going alone anywhere. Safety in numbers is especially true in this case. I will also remind you that these crimes occurred at night."

*

Will sat down at the hotel bar nursing a glass of whiskey, deep in thought, not bothering to acknowledge the few locals and tourists chatting around in their tables, just enjoying the smooth taste of his drink as the alcohol burned its way down his throat and settled in his stomach with its pleasant warmth. He was exhausted and knew that he shouldn't drink before going to his room to try and sleep a few hours, but he felt trepidation of seeing Abigail Hobbs in his dreams again. Or Teresa Banks. Or Abel Gideon. Or the dozens of other ghosts that had started to live inside his head after their deaths. Chattering and chattering inside his skull, seeping into his dreams every night. Sometimes he could swear he could feel the weight of all those ghosts upon his shoulders. Gloomily Will took another mouthful of his drink.

"We keep bumping into each other a lot these days", came a voice next to him, and as Will turned to look he saw Hannibal Lecter sliding elegantly to the bar chair next to his. He ordered his "usual" which revealed to be a glass of red wine.  
"I would like to apologize for my analytical  
ambush for the first time we met at the hospital, but since we'll be working together from now on I know I will soon be apologizing again and you’ll tire of that eventually so I have to consider using apologies sparingly." Will considered the apology, if he wanted to accept it and decided to compromise:  
"Just keep it professional."  
Will could see from his peripheral vision that Hannibal was smiling at him.  
"Or we could socialize like adults, god forbid we become friendly."  
"I don’t find you that interesting." Will said nonchalantly.

"You will. "  
The man's peculiar tone of voice made Will to look at him, but Hannibal was now delicately sipping at his wine, so Will turned back to his own drink, considering chucking it down and leaving. But he thought that maybe he should give Hannibal a chance. After all nothing about the man as far as he could tell made him unpleasant. It was just Will's bad experiences from psychiatrists and psychologists starting from his childhood that made him automatically dislike him.  
"Alana tells me you have a knack for the monsters."  
Will sighed. ('Here we go again.')

"That’s a superstition."

" She wouldn’t say anything else, not a word. She’s very protective of you. Smitten, I would say." Hannibal was studying his reaction at that but Will just sipped his whiskey, resolutely staying neutral.  
"She also asked me to keep an eye on you."  
Will glanced at Hannibal's sideprofile. But the man was inscrutable at his expressions. ('It's like he has honed his expressions and body language to be completely closed when he wants it to be.')  
"I know she did." Is all the recognition Will allowed.  
"I take it you don't appreciate the gesture."  
"I appreciate that she worries about me", Will said, then opened his mouth to say more but decided not to.  
"I think dear Alana sees you as a fragile little tea-cup, the finest china used for only special guests."  
Will snorted at that, then with a wry smile asked out of curiosity:  
"How do you see me?"  
Hannibal was quiet for a moment. Will turned his head to look at him and saw the man studying his face, briefly locking their gazes, Hannibal's deep, dark brown, almost reddish brown eyes taking him in with such intensity that Will started to feel flustered under such scrutiny. Then Hannibal spoke:  
"I see you as the mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by. "  
For a second more Will looked into those eyes before he averted his gaze.

They sat in silence then. It was a rather comfortable sort of silence. Will was feeling the alcohol relaxing him, making him feel slightly drowsy.  
"There's actually a reason why I was glad to find you here, since I hoped to be able to talk to you without Jack's presence."  
Will looked at Hannibal with a raised eyebrow. Hannibal seemed slightly nervous now, his fingers touching the slender stem of the wine glass restlessly.  
"Abigail Hobbs was my patient."  
Will's eyes widened and he turned in his chair towards Hannibal, almost bumping his knees against the man's legs.  
"What? Why didn't you say anything before?"  
Hannibal pursed his lips before relaxing them. "There is doctor-patient confidentiality that prevents me from speaking about it. Truth is that there's nothing useful I could tell you even if I could break that confidentiality. I saw her for few months, usually once a week, without her parents knowledge, but I was unable to penetrate the walls upon walls she had barricaded herself in. I failed, and I can't help but to wonder if I had tried harder to reach out towards her, perhaps I could've saved her."  
Will licked his lips, not knowing what to say. Hannibal looked deeply saddened, and Will didn't know what to words he could offer in consolation. So he didn't say anything.  
"Alright, I won't ask anything if you're sure there's nothing useful you could tell us. I trust you."  
Now Hannibal did look at Will and the bright gleam in his eyes made Will look away.  
"Thank you, Will. I will do everything in my power to help you catch the one who killed Abigail."  
Will gave the man a brief smile, thinking that perhaps having to work with Hannibal wouldn't be so bad after all.

*

Hannibal walked through the shadows of his home, not bothering with the corridor lights as he made his way towards his study, the room he used to see his patients. Most of them suffering from banal mental illnesses and problems, like the mayor Franklyn Froideveaux with his neurosis and fixation with Hannibal himself. None of them worth his attention or time. Though perhaps Margot would prove herself to be entertaining within time.

He walked to the small lamp on his desk and clicked the light on. With the lamps moody lighting he opened the first drawer of his desk and pulled out a sketch he had been keeping there in his reach ever since he made it.

He sat down on his chair, looking at the drawing. Small smile rose to his lips, his face grew softer as he looked the drawing of Abigail. Strong, promising Abigail. She had been worth his time. He wondered what she might have been like if she could have had the chance to grow up to be a woman. When he first met her and was asked by the timid, scared young girl if he would tell her parents about her seeing a therapist, if he would contact her parents or the police about the things she wanted to talk about and if he could take the payments in person and accept cash, he would never had anticipated the nature of her secrets and confessions.

Abigail surprised him. She surprised him pleasantly and often. Not a day would go by that he wouldn't miss her company.  
"Take comfort in knowing there is no god, Abigail", Hannibal whispered, "You won't be enslaved in heaven. You have been blessed with oblivion."


	3. The Book House

Will stood in the middle of the dark woods and it was eerily quiet. He could see the naked tree branches and pines swaying in the wind but there was no sound. The void of silence was suddenly broken by subtle crunching of dead leaves. There was that large creature again, its heavy breathing sounding somewhere close behind him. Will turned slowly to see it: he felt slight trepidation, uncertain what he would see or if it would be better not to see it.   
Still, he turned to look.  
It was a huge pitchblack stag, with massive antlers. Its black shiny eyes were studying Will. Its breath came out in steamy clouds in the cold air.   
Will blinked and he was now holding struggling Abigail Hobbs with a hunting knife pressed to her throat.  
Will could hear himself say: "I’m sorry, Abigail. Please, just, hold still. Please. I’m going to make it all go away."  
Will stared at the stag and it stared back, then with a quick slide of his knife he cut Abigail’s throat. Arterial spray drenched the world in red bright blood and he could hear someone screaming somewhere. Screaming and screaming and screaming--  
  
Will startled awake in his bed at the knock on the door. Groggily he stumbled out to of the bed and to the door, moving automatically, head still disoriented not thinking who would be at his door or if it was still morning or night, just wondering if there was already another body...  
He opened the door.  
Hannibal Lecter was standing there, dressed up to nines, holding two cups, a thermos and a small thermal food storage bag.  
"Good morning, Will. May I come in?"  
Will stared at him. Not sure if he was still dreaming:  
"What--? Why are you here?"  
Hannibal didn't seem taken back or insulted by Will's curt response as he was still wearing his polite smile: "I will be accompanying you to work today. Alana asked me to go through all the information you've gathered so far, help create a profile for your two killers, but please, Will, I'd rather not stand here in the corridor talking about it: may I come in?" Will blinked and opened the door to his room. 

He was struck by uncomfortable self-consciousness when he looked at his ruffled sweat stained bed, so he turned to open the curtains and open the window to air the room out from its morning stuffiness while Hannibal took use of the little table in the room, putting down beautifully presented breakfast in tupperware containers on top of place settings he had brought with him. He poured freshly brewed coffee into the two cups. Will's stomach started to growl as he smelt the food and the intoxicating aroma of the coffee. He felt tentative feeling of joy and gratitude hit him. No one had ever brought him food like this.

"I’m very careful about what I put into my body. Which means I end up preparing most meals myself." Hannibal explained while Will took his place opposite of the older man.  
"A little protein scramble to start the day. Some eggs, some sausage."  
Hannibal watched Will take eager bite of his breakfast scramble. Will paused as he tasted it. He looked briefly around Hannibal's eyes, not quite meeting them:  
"It’s delicious. Thank you."  
Hannibal smiled, pleased.  
"My pleasure."  
They ate in silence for a while. Will thinking about his dream, Hannibal thinking his own private thoughts.  
Then he wiped his mouth into a napkin, leaned back in his chair:  
"I'd love to hear your thoughts about the two killers. What have you deducted so far?"  
Will glanced up from his breakfast and mirrored unconsciously Hannibal's body language:  
"The first one, the man we've been after for a month now, is interested only in one of the women he kills. He's not interested in the spotlight, this is somehow personal for him."  
"What kind of problems does he have?"  
Will considered Hannibal, frowning slightly:  
"He has a few."  
Almost with a wink Hannibal asked him:  
"Ever have any problems, Will?"  
The frown on Will's face deepened:  
"No."  
"Of course you don’t. You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about."  
Will wondered if he should take the bait but decided not:  
"Once we figure out what our killers connection with Abigail is, we will be able to track him down."  
Hannibal nodded, thoughtful:  
"And the new killer?"  
Will grimaced, then rubbed his face with his hands: "He's... going to be a bigger problem."  
Will put his hands on his thighs and sighed at the ceiling: "He's an intelligent psychopath, different from the one killing teenage girls. This isn't personal for him. He's...playing with us. Mocking us. Mocking our killer too. But we can't focus on him now, not unless he kills again. When we find our killer we might find answers about the new killer too. But right now we have nothing, no evidence. Just a body of a dead girl."  
Will stared at the tableware now, slightly surprised that he had eaten everything Hannibal had brought.  
"Thank you for the breakfast, it was great."  
"It was my pleasure, I'll give you some privacy while you get ready. I'll be waiting at the lobby."

*

Driving to the station Will glanced at Hannibal to see the man smiling to himself.  
"What are you smiling about?"  
"Peeking behind the curtain. Curious how the FBI goes about its business when it isn’t kicking in doors."  
Will chuckled at that: "I haven't been doing any door kicking since graduation from the academy."  
"And I suppose I won't be seeing any in the near future."  
"I suspect not. Your job is consultation, a very safe position to have."  
"You do not seem interested in safety yourself."  
Will frowned. "The job is what it is, and no one else can do what I can. Staying behind isn't an option for me."  
Hannibal merely hummed which annoyed Will but he decided not to start their first day by kicking Hannibal out.  
He suspected it might cause him enough trouble with Alana, that this time she might simply let him go, and where would he go then? He wasn't good at much anything besides catching killers and fixing boat motors.

"I thought I should warn you that our local journalist has written a piece about Abigail Hobbs and Elise Nichols."  
Will glanced at the man while he kept driving through the sleepy town: "Oh?"  
"Yes, she had somehow gotten an access to miss Nichol's hospital room and taken pictures of her."  
"Tasteless", Will spit out, feeling outrage over the victim who had been violated in such a fashion.  
"Do you have trouble with taste?"  
"My thoughts are often not tasty."  
"Nor mine. No effective barriers."  
"I make forts."  
"Associations come quickly."  
"So do forts."  
Will glanced at Hannibal who was almost grinning and huffed part annoyance and part amusement.  
"You seem to enjoy riling me up", he noted.  
"That's not my goal but I do enjoy your candidness."  
"Well, you'd be the first", Will muttered as they turned to the hospital parking lot.  
"More's the pity for them. And for me a pleasure." Will glanced at the older man with a confused but pleased little smile.

*

Inside the Twin Peaks morgue Beverly Katz and Miriam Lass were working side by side over a microscope as couple of the other forensic team members were writing down notes and making phone calls to arrange deliveries for their samples. When the two women noticed Will and Hannibal they stopped to greet them, and Will noticed the dark rings under their eyes.

"We've been working through the night to collect as much evidence as we could find. Most was washed away but we sent what we found to the lab at Quantico. It will take some time to get the results but when you manage to find the the killer, hopefully there will be some physical evidence there to help the prosecution", Miriam said while peering into the microscope. Beverly was observing close by with a clipboard and pen in her hands.  
A knock on the door before Jack Crawford peeked in and entered, nodding approvingly at the tired team. "Tell me you're finished?"  
Beverly sighed and huffed a errand strand of hair, which was escaping from her hairnet, from her face as she gave a critical look around the room: "As finished as we could be."  
Jack nodded: "The mortician is here in five minutes to collect her. The burial will be at 3 pm. Everyone who wants to go there are welcomed to attend."  
"Thanks", Beverly replied sincerely but tiredly.

"Miriam", Will addressed the slowly blinking, dazed looking woman: "did you find anything new?" Miriam snapped back to action but she looked a bit shaky, and her big blue eyes seemed to stand even wider: "From the body, not much. Possible seminal fluid, little bit of dried blood wedged under the fingernail, where the little speck of paper was, which could have the DNA of our perb, if she managed to scratch him. Otherwise her fingers and skin were clean. We dusted the little paper too, to no avail, but had to check it just in case. You never know where the mistakes might lie."  
"Indeed you may not know, excellent job agent Lass", Hannibal spoke, and Miriam blinked several times before she could get back on track, Will guessed she was functioning only because of caffeine at that point:   
"We checked the plastic cover and duct tapes for prints too. Found nothing, but we'll triple check if necessary. The rope marks on the victims wrists and ankles were common kind of rope, maybe if we'd found the ropes and if they hadn't been in the water there might have been something lodged between the fibres. The toxicology report came this morning and there was signs of cocaine use before her death but her sinuses showed that she wasn't an user."  
Will nodded. "She was probably selling it."  
"There was one bizarre thing we found from her stomach cavity: a small plastic fragment. It was partially dissolved by digestive acids so I'm taking it with me back to the lab for reconstruction."  
Will nodded and then they were interrupted by a firm knocking at the door.  
Jack went to let the mortician in while Will gave a small joyless smile to the team: "Thank you. You did a great job. Go and rest."  
They all stood up from their seats and stepped aside in silence as the body of Abigail Hobbs was being moved to her last journey towards her final resting place.

*

Jack, Will and Hannibal gathered at Jack's office.  
"We haven't been able to find Marissa Schurr. No sign of her anywhere. Her mother is half mad with worry and there's nothing new I can tell her everytime she calls."  
Will nodded solemnly. "It's very possible she was the third victim. That would mean that our killer is escalating,"  
Hannibal nods: "If that's the case, then it's very likely so. And we will not find her body this time."  
"Yeah", Will muttered, "we're too close, he won't risk it. But if he took her, he's growing reckless. He's someone from this town. Three girls in one town..." Will shook his head. "I can almost feel his presence, but without seeing an actual crime scene I can't see him."  
Jack looked at him puzzled. Hannibal only looked.  
"I have to gather my men and gather a search party. Last time we were able to track down Elise Nichol's tracks from the spot she was found by a trucker but this time we don't know where to start looking. Mrs Schurr said her daughter's bike was gone. She probably left somewhere, but no one had seen her after she left school and went home. Sometime between 9 pm and 7 am she disappeared."

A knock on the door interrupted their thoughts, Deputy Zeller entered, dressed in funeral blues.   
"Sheriff, it's time to go."   
Jack rose from his seat, went to the door and snatched his hat. "You two coming?"  
Crawford and Zeller headed out. Will moved to follow but turned around when he noticed that Hannibal wasn't moving.  
"I'm sorry, but I think I'm going to stay behind and go through the case files in the mean time."  
Will looked at him surprised for a moment but understood that Hannibal didn't want to go the funeral of Abigail Hobbs. The girl whose therapist he had been. "Alright, see you later then."  
Hannibal smiled: "Yes, until later."

  
*  
  
The day had turned sunny and bright by the Black Lake cemetary as the funeral-goers gathered to the Abigail Hobbs burial site. Will felt certain amount of anxiety seeing the couple dozen gathering around the casket and the several dozen standing just outside the cemetery, observing and showing their own support and consolations but not daring to disturb the family and friends of the Hobbs family with their presence.

Margot Verger dressed in elegant black dress escorted the Hobbs couple into the cemetery and supporting Laura Hobbs shaky figure. Many of the mourners stopped their quiet chattering and stared. Both of the Hobbs couple looked pale and thin. Garret Jacob-Hobbs looked haunted.

All the mourners had gathered around the grave now. Abigail's burnished casket sat on its hydraulic bed, the dark hole beneath it. A priest prepared his oration.

"For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself. For if we live, we live unto the Lord; and if we die, we die unto the Lord."

Sheriff Crawford was looking at Bella Packard across the casket, who met his gaze and gave him a warm but teary eyed smile as they all stood morosely around the coffin, listening the priest or simply thinking their own private thoughts. 

"Whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord's. Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors. The Lord be with you..." Several voices answered: "And with thy spirit." "Let us pray: O God, entrust this child Abigail to thy never-failing care and love, and bring us all to thy heavenly kingdom; through the same thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen. "

The priest cleared his throat:  
"I baptized Abigail Hobbs. I instructed her in Sunday school. And like all of you, I came to love her with that special love we reserve for the headstrong and bold. Abigail was bright, charming and energetic. But most of all she was, I think, impatient. Impatient for her life to begin, for the rest of the world to catch up with her many dreams and ambitions.  
If we appear to put those dreams to rest today, do not believe it. For those of us who loved her, those dreams will never die. They live on inside each of us. 

Garrett Jacob-Hobbs stepped quietly toward the casket. He stared at it for a minute, then without warning he threw himself on the casket wailing: "Abigail! Abigail!" 

Crawford and Zeller stepped forward to try to pull the man up while Laura Hobbs just stared blankly at the scene. "Abigail! My baby!" Garrett cried shrugging off the hands that tried to pull him up. The mourners stood and stared for a moment before they started to one by one walk away.

*

Later in the evening Will drove to the cemetery after leaving the station. He found himself feeling melancholic, and the silence of the dark of the graves seemed oddly comforting in his restless mood. He was walking unhurriedly towards Abigail's gravesite but stopped when he noticed a figure standing there. He recognised Hannibal Lecter, who was holding a bouquet of flowers: white daisies, white Calla lilies and white gardenias. He kneeled in front of the grave for a moment before laying the bouquet down. Will contemplated on leaving and giving the man some privacy when Hannibal suddenly rose back to his feet and turned his head to look at Will.

Will walked to him. He stopped to stand side by side with Hannibal, looking at the new gravestone, its surface shiny and clean, the golden metal letters reflecting light from the nearby streetlight lamps.  
"I will miss her", Hannibal spoke finally and Will glanced at the man's profile. He looked calm, severe.   
"Tell me about her."

Hannibal was silent for a moment before he spoke: "She was... interesting, surprising. Very perceptive and intelligent. She kept me on my toes", at that the man smiled fondly, a broad, proud smile. "She was ambitious. She talked about going into psychology or forensics, even talked about becoming an FBI agent." Will smiled at that, able to imagine this Abigail in his mind. A regular girl, though the things she was involved in were troubling and painted a very dark picture.   
"I never got to know the secrets she was troubled by but when we talked she was witty and bright. Strong, so strong that I was certain she would have survived through anything. That was her nature: a survivor."

Cold wind gusted through the cemetery and woke them from their thoughts.  
"Thank you, Will."  
Will turned to look at the older man puzzled.  
"For what?  
"For asking about her."  
Then, as if in an afterthought: "And for searching for her killer. She deserves justice." The graveyard was silent once more, only wind rustled the dead leaves on the ground.  
"Um, wanna go for a drink?"  
Will wasn't sure what he should do or say so he asked the man what he himself felt like he desperately needed.  
Hannibal was silent for second. "Yes." He turned to look at Will: "Would you mind accompanying me to my house? I'd rather not go someplace with people tonight."  
"Sounds good to me." Will gave the man a small smile.

They walked back to the parking lot. 

*

After shrugging off his jacket Hannibal made a beeline towards his kitchen, Will following and once again observing the elegant house with its several interesting paintings and ornaments.  
"Please, have a seat", Hannibal gestured towards the tall bar chairs he had around the kitchen counter.  
"Whiskey?" He asked.  
"Yes, thanks."  
Without another word Hannibal fished out from his large stash of different expensive alcohols a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. He poured generously for both before taking his seat next to Will's.

"I never considered having a child. But after meeting Abigail, I understood the appeal. The   
opportunity to guide and support, and in many ways, direct a life."  
Will thought about Hannibal's words.  
"I've not wanted children of my own, but I too can understand the appeal of it."  
"What kind of father would you be?"  
Will took s generous sip of his whiskey, considering the answer.   
"A good one. I think I could've been a good father." Then he continued as explaining his answer:  
"My dad was a very strict and distant man, but he did his best even though he drank often a little too much. I think I would've done a lot of things differently than him. I would've been present for my kids, for one."  
Hannibal hummed and Will glanced at the pleasant, angular face, the downcast honeycolored eyelashes, as the older man looked into the amber liquid in his glass before raising the glass to his red lips for a sip.  
"What about your dad? What he thought about you becoming a psychiatrist?" Will asked, curious, thinking about his old man's suspicious attitude toward "shrinks" or doctor's in general. Not entirely without a cause.  
"I'm not sure, my parents died when I was still a young boy. I'm not sure what my parents hoped for my future." Will blinked, slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry, didn't meant to bring up bad memories."  
Hannibal shook his head, but didn't comment.  
"My uncle Robertus, who adopted me when I was eleven, would've approved perhaps, but he always preferred arts to science. And I suppose he wished I would've followed in his footsteps, since he and his wife, lady Murasaki didn't have children of their own. It would've flattered him but unfortunately for him I was always following my own paths." At that Hannibal gave a little amused chuckle, drawing a small smile to Will's own lips. They shared a look. Will felt some kind of comaraderie between them. He realized they were both lonely men. Something he wouldn't have believed from looking at Hannibal, his charming attitude and socially adept behaviour, but now he could feel the loneliness radiating from the older man.  
And he felt his own reflecting back.

Will cleared his throat: "I often think that I should've stuck to fixing boat motors in Louisiana instead of going to law enforcement."  
Hannibal smiled indulgently at that but he seemed to disagree by the look he was giving him:  
"A boat engine is a machine. A predictable problem, easy to solve. You fail, there's a paddle. Human minds are more complex. You need a different kind of paddle. Perhaps you could see me as such?"  
Will frowned slightly: "Thanks, doctor, but I don't therapy."  
"You misunderstood; I was offering my friendship. A listener without the fixed roles of our professions."  
Will felt his cheek get warmer at that, pleased. It was like he was transported in time back to school, always the new kid in school as he and his dad kept moving around from one dock to another, hunting for work. And now for the first time since over a decade someone came to him and asked him to be his friend. It was pleasant - and embarrassing. And it was far too late as well. He was now 25 years old, a lot more skeptical and overall bitter. He was slowly turning into his old man.  
"Perhaps." Was the only answer he was capable of producing. Not entirely rejecting but not accepting either. He wasn't that trusting, hadn't been since he was 5 year old and his mother had walked out on him and his dad.

"Hard to have anything, isn't it?" Will mused out loud, with a sigh as he sipped at his drink. Hannibal hummed: "Rare to get it, hard to keep it. It's a slippery life."

Will downed rest of his whiskey: "I think it's better for me to get going. There's still plenty of work to be done tomorrow."  
"I hope you'll still be available for dinner at Friday?"  
"Oh, right. Yeah, of course. Do you want me to bring anything?"  
"Just yourself."  
"Yeah, ok. Well, I'll see you tomorrow?"  
"Yes. Goodnight Will."  
"Goodnight."

*

Next morning Will woke up when the phone on the nightstand rang. He had been dreaming about something but forgot all about it when Jack was on the other line with news about their missing girl: Marissa Schurr.  
"We got a lead. Marissa had been seen with a boy named Nicholas Boyle. Her friends in school suspected that they were dating but the thing is, that Marissa is 17 and Nicholas Boyle 22, so apparently Marissa's mother put an end to it. Still I think Nicholas Boyle might have something to tell us. Zeller couldn't find him at his work place Big Ed's gasoline, that's uh, gas station near Sparkwood Road."  
Will was already gathering his clothes while he squeezed the phone between his head and shoulder: "He's on the run" ,Will guessed.  
"That seems possible." Jack admitted with a defeated voice.  
Will grimaced to himself as he thought about how this business with murders and secrets seemed to scratch Jack's belief in the town's folk and their inherent goodness, which he seemed to have believed in until Will came along and suddenly every dirty little secret was slowly being pulled on the surface, like corpses floating on the lake after winter ice has melted away.  
"I put out an APB for Nicholas Boyle. If he's still around we'll catch him."  
"Alright, I'll get to the station in half an hour."  
With that said Will hung up and started to dress.

*

Bedelia Du Maurier was lounging naked in her bed, relaxed and content. Hannibal Lecter was in front of a mirror, tying his tie back on. They had had a casual relationship ever since Hannibal had arrived to Twin Peaks and made his acquaintance with her. It never became anything serious. Hannibal was too aloof for that and Bedelia liked to keep him at an arm's length. She couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but the man striked her as dangerous. It was a vague feeling she couldn't explain even to herself. She had had her share of aggressive patients through her work as a doctor, and even though Hannibal had never physically hurt her - at least not without her blessing - she got the same feeling of anxiety around him as she did with volatile patients; as if she might move or speak in a slightly wrong way, she would trip from the delicate balance of a knife's edge into danger. The feeling of danger seemed to be one of the reasons why she seeked out his company every now and then, too. Other reasons were - for one - the pleasant company and discussions they had.

But whatever less than savoury business the man was involved in, as she suspected and had hinted to him of her suspicions, his sudden involment with the FBI's investigation seemed peculiar to her. She couldn't help but to wonder if the man too was bored and attracted to danger.

"What's your interest with the FBI agent? "   
Hannibal glanced at her, amused but not surprised about her question. Bedelia didn't bother with pretending that she didn't know that the man was up to something.  
"For the first time in a long while I see a possibility of friendship."  
"With him?"  
"He's a man much like myself, same hobbies, same world views. I’m curious about him."  
Bedelia tilted her head, making the lovely blonde hair spill down her shoulder.  
"Friendship? I always considered you an individualist. The social anti-social. "  
Hannibal smiled to his reflection and asked in a playful tone:  
"A polite way of saying sociopath?"  
Bedelia gave him a mild smile in answer:  
"I’m not sure how to categorize you in those terms. And I think you prefer it that way. "  
"I’m afraid once you figure me out, you’ll lose interest." He said while putting on his suit jacket, straightening invisible wrinkles.  
"What is it about him that draws you?"  
Hannibal considered, still indulging her and her questions:  
"He’s nothing like me. We see the world in different ways, yet he can assume my point of view."  
"How, exactly? He's an FBI agent who hunts down criminals, in this case; serial killers."  
"As good a demonstration as any of our similarities - and our differences."  
Bedelia studied the man as he smoothed his hair back even though his hair was already perfect.  
"It’s nice to have someone see us. Or have the ability to see us. It requires trust. Trust isn’t easy for you."  
"You mean, behind the human veil I hide behind in?"  
She stared at Hannibal's back as the man took a final look to the mirror. ('That’s exactly what I mean.')  
"You’ve helped me to better understand what I want in a friendship. And what I don’t," Hannibal continued easily.  
"Someone worthy of your friendship", she surmised.  
"Yes."  
Bedelia stretched her naked legs sensually on the bed but Hannibal didn't even look at her, as she suspected he wouldn't. He wasn't as banal as that to lust after her for her body. It was her mind he was interested in. Just like the FBI agent, Will Graham.   
('It's like he's collecting people, in a similar manner as someone would collect butterflies. Pin them down to look at the colorful wings... forever.') She shuddered, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed, brushing her blonde curls.  
"You spend a lot of time building walls, Hannibal. It's natural to want to see if anyone is clever enough to climb over them."  
Hannibal was now walking towards the bedroom door, hand pressed on the handle and ready to go, but stopped to look at her  
"We are not friends, as you have reminded me, so why do you bother?"  
She smiled at him placatingly: "I see enough of you to see the truth of you. And I like you."  
Hannibal smiled and turned to the door: "Until next time." And then he was gone.

  
*

Will arrived at the station and greeted Jimmy who pointed him towards Jack's office.  
After cursory knock Will got in and was surprised to see Jack with a dark skinned man in an impeccable suit discussing in low tones.  
"Um, sorry, am I interrupting?"  
"No, no", Jack gestured him to come in: "we need to talk anyway. Will, this is Tobias Budge, Tobias, meet Will Graham of the FBI." The two men shook hands and something about the eyes of Tobias Budge made Will's hackles raise. He shifted his gaze down on Tobias's cheek.  
"Pleasure", the man said with a polite but a paper thin, fake smile.  
"Yeah, nice to meet you."  
Will looked at Jack: "So what did you want to talk about?"  
The two men glanced each other.  
Warily, Jack spoke: "Tobias here works at a local music store, teaches at the side, but he and several other locals also work for me."  
Will raised his eyebrow at that, glanced at Tobias who was standing still like a statue, hands clasped behind his back.  
"I call on him and few others when I need assistance. Outside the jurisdiction."  
Will blinked at that. Not that vigilante justice was his business, not exactly, but he wouldn't have thought Jack to be "outside the books" -type of guy.  
"Someone's bringing, drugs into Twin Peak and selling it to the high school kids. We see it as everyone's business."  
Will nodded: "Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem for the whole community. I'm not judging you, Jack."  
Jack nodded, but still looked troubled: "You're going to have to trust me on this. No matter how it sounds. "  
Will nodded, encouraging the man to continue.  
Jack continued slowly at first, searching for the words: "Twin Peaks is... different. A long way from the world. You've noticed that. And that's the way we like it. But there's a back end to that that's different too. Maybe that's the price we pay for all the good things."   
He continued: "There's a sort of evil out there. Something strange in the hills. It takes different forms, but it's been there for as long as anyone can remember. And we've always been here to fight it. "   
Will found himself intrigued: "We?"   
Jack nodded: "Men before us. Men before them. More after we're gone. We protect our own. We have to."  
"Like, uh, a secret society?"   
The two men exchanged looks.   
"Let's take agent Graham for a little ride tonight: to The Book House."   
"If you're amenable, agent?" Tobias asked Will.  
"Sure. If you have any information about the local drug trafficking we might find more about Abigail's part in it and perhaps about our killer."  
Jack nodded and the two men bid their farewells as Tobias left the station.  
"Tobias has been a big help to me", Jack said with a smile. "Last year we seized a huge load of cocaine that came across the border. At least couple hundred pounds. We're not sure where it comes from exactly, but we have few locals we've been keeping an eye on. We suspect they're behind the trafficking but without evidence our hands are tied. I couldn't just stand by and let our community to rot away."  
"I understand, Jack. I'm not here to intervene. My only concern is to find and stop the man who is killing girls."  
Jack swallowed harshly and nodded solemnly. "It hasn't been easy for me. I didn't become a cop to break law myself, to see myself above it. But I hope end justifies the means."

Will stared at his hands, clasped loosely together on his lap. Hearing in his head ten blasts from his gun echoing; explosive noise drowning everything else. And then the ringing in his ears after the gun was left empty and smoking in his grip. The man in front of him, Abel Gideon, the Cheasepeak Ripper- copycat slumped on the floor in a pool of blood. The air was filled with the stench of gunpowder and blood.  
"Yeah," Will muttered, "I hope so too."

*

After 5 pm the two men left the station and drove to an inconspicuous looking building just outside the town proper. It looked like a shabby bookstore from the outside, not like the ones in the town center with gleaming windows and neat entrances. Above the door was a weather worn sign: "Bob's Books".  
Jack led Will in. It was both a bookstore and a clubhouse of sorts: walls lined with bookshelves, the scent of old books in the air with the cigarette smoke and coffee beans. There was also chairs and tables where few men and women were sitting, talking quietly, only glancing at them as they entered.

Jack led Will towards the back and through another door. Will stopped and stared when he saw that in the middle of the office space was a young man tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth. Couple locals were standing on guard.   
"Who's this? "  
"Randall Tier. He's a janitor at the local bar; Roadhouse. Randall had an ounce of cocaine in his bag. Thought we'd ask him a couple of questions. "  
Will approached the man, observing that he was physically fit 20-something, with blue eyes and sand brown hair. There was no bruises on him, so Jack's group had managed to apprehend him without using force. The man didn't look scared, only pissed. Will wasn't sure how he'd manage to make the man talk but he removed the gag anyway.   
"Did you ever sell drugs to Abigail Hobbs?"   
Randall scowled at him: "I don't sell drugs." Jack stepped in: "Who's paying you to be the mule? "   
"I'm not a mule!"   
"So that ounce we found, that was for personal use?"   
"That's right."   
"Who did you buy it from?"  
Randall stuttered at that: "Just some guy."  
"Some guy have a name?"  
Randall went silent and sheen of sweat began to gather on his forehead. Will hunched down and steeled himself to look into the man's eyes to read him in the way he could:  
"We have you tied up in a chair in a room with the Sheriff and an agent of the FBI. You're mixed up in a wide variety of felonies according to your rapsheet. As I see it, you can only give us a name and walk free, back to your job OR we'll arrest you for possession, you'll lose your job and whoever you're working for will still think you talked."  
Randall was staring at his feet, silent, but oozing with nervous energy.  
"I'm not anyone important. I don't know any names", Randall muttered and sniffed. He was close to tears: "I only know one guy. I don't know anything else except what he tells me."  
Jack reached down now and yelled with a booming voice that made Randall startle:  
"WHO?"  
"Matthew!" Randall cried: "Matthew Brown!" 

Jack and Will rose to their feet and exchanged a look. Jack signaled the guards to stay put as he and Will left the room.  
"Matthew Brown, and the letter 'M' in Abigail's diary; they might have a connection. So who is this Matthew Brown?" Will asked.  
Jack sighed: "Just another low-level criminal. We've suspected he might be part of the drug ring but he has stayed clear from our focus. Just a lot speeding tickets and aggravated assault a year back. Nothing that would stick."  
"That's about to change. Let's go make a house call."

  
*

At 6 pm Jack's cruiser drove to a rundown trailer in the small trailer park. Close behind them came Zeller in a squad car with two officers as a backup.  
They approached the trailer cautiously, lighting their flashlights as the trailer was dark and there was no lighrsources near. Only the dark woods and gloomy sky covering their vision with darkness. The officers took positions with their service weapons at the ready as Jack knocked on the door: "Matthew Brown! This is the police - open up!"  
No answer. Only the rustle of the wind in the trees.  
"I guess he isn't home," Zeller said, looking around a tad nervously while gripping on his gun like a lifeline.  
Jack let out a frustrated sigh and was about to knock again but Will stopped him with a gesture. He pointed Jack to step aside, then turned to the door and kicked it - hard, and the door bent under the kick as it crashed open.   
Jack let out a disbelieving sound between a chuckle and a huff: "What the..."  
Then he straightened up and hollered again into the dark insides of the trailer: "Matthew Brown? This is the police."  
Since there was no answer Jack pushed the door open and stepped inside with his gun aimed, but the trailer was empty of any occupants. They checked the small bathroom and bedroom but the Matthew Brown was gone. They stood at the broken front door.  
"Never thought these things would break so easily." Jack said as he put his service revolver back on his holster, gesturing at the bent door with its splintered frame.  
Will turned to walk around, and took in the interior: "I used to live in a trailer park with my dad. Trailer doors like these break down easily."

The officers stood outside and Zeller fetched them forensic set bag and offered latex gloves to Will and Jack who put them on. Will looked at the two men:  
"Let's seal the trailer and get forensics." They started to look around and Will opened the kitchen cabinets one by one not seeing anything of note, just glassware, cans of food and knick-knacks of different sort. Under the little sink he found the trashcan which he took and carefully looked through its contents. Stashed inside was a denim jacket with splashes of crusted up blood splatter. Carefully he lifted it out, examining the stains.  
"Call Doc Katz, we'll get a make on this blood", Will said to Jack who had turned to look at the shirt. Then his radio squawked and he answered it, still eyeing the shirt: "Crawford here."   
A male voice on the other line spoke up: "We're at the truck stop, Jack, talked to Brown's supervisor and he said that the man's been missing since yesterday; didn't show up at work."  
Crawford clicked the radio on as he replied the officer: "Ok, Donald, tell the guy to call us immediately if Brown shows his face."  
"Will do."   
Jack put the radio back and looked at Will: "Let's get an APB to the state office."

*

Hannibal sat in his office, drinking wine and enjoying the warmth of the fireplace as he observed the chair across his. He conjured up Abigail from his mind, watching the version of her he had talked with only a week ago.

Abigail was sitting across from him, eyes large and shining - but not yet teary - cheeks flushed and biting her lower lip. She was looking troubled as she always did when she was talking about her father:  
"If he would just killed me, none of those girls would have died. I wish I could ask him... what did I do to make him feel that way? What's so wrong with me that he wants to kill me."  
Hannibal observed her for a moment. "Your father is following impulses that have nothing to do with you, Abigail. If you had never been born, if he had never loved you, he would've eventually killed, that's his nature. But he made you into the object of his fixation because he loves you. None of that is your fault."  
"I hate him. I hate him but I hate myself more for loving him even so", Abigail spit out, eyes growing shinier.  
"And that's entirely valid and normal reaction."  
"None of this feels normal!" The girl cried out: "I look at my classmates and their parents and I see the similarities on the surface: the family trips and dinners, watching TV together in the evenings, all that, but my family is different from any of them. The base it was built on is crooked."  
"Even crooked buildings can be strong. Sometimes stronger just for having a strong ground underneath, able to withstand the weight. In your case the weight of the secrets."  
"I feel bitter that my family isn't normal", she said, defeated and quiet: "It's something that I have grown to realize and resent."  
"Hard to desire for something you've never known."  
"Yeah, but that doesn't make me not wish my family would be normal."  
A tear escaped Abigail's large blue eyes and she wiped it away with the sleeve of her shirt.   
"You've said that you wished you could kill your father. Have you given that idea anymore thought?"  
Abigail slumped in her chair like a marionette with her strings cut at those words. She didn't make eye contact but her tired posture was calm, or perhaps inanimate.  
"I... think about it every now and then. Mostly when he takes me out to hunt. The more he pushes me, the more I feel on edge until I get the feeling I'm going to snap." She laughs joylessly at that. "Like I might go insane. Or maybe I might stick a knife in him instead." Life returned to her features and she looked at Hannibal cautiously: "Am I bad person for thinking that? I feel like I am."  
Hannibal smiled at her kindly, fondly:  
"No, Abigail. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you. That is self-preservation. The fight or flight response. You're a captive, you feel the noose tighten around your neck and instead of flighting you consider the most natural response of fighting."  
Hannibal tilted his head, observing the girl who had calmed down. Her eyes were clear:  
"Every day I wake up and I hear my dad’s voice in my head, like he was kneeling next to my bed. I hear him whisper - again and again - that he killed girls so he wouldn’t have to kill me. "

Hannibal opened his eyes and sipped his wine. The image of Abigail was still sitting in the chair opposite of him, frozen in time, just like every memory he had saved in his memory palace. But with her, he felt a distant echo of something, - not regret, not exactly, but something akin to it. Disappointment certainly. He had had high hopes for the girl as he had begun to care for her in his own way. The reality of her being stolen from him had caused him restless nights ever since her death. And with that thought he looked at his wristwatch, seeing that it was already midnight, yet thought of sleep was an unattractive one.

He finished his wine at leisure before he rose up and walked to his desk to take out his rolodex. His hands caressed the business cards safely stored away, just waiting for him to pick one. His fingers flicked the cards one after another until he stopped. The trucking company in Twin Peaks, Northend Trucks. Hannibal's lips stretched into a small, pleased smile as he picked up the card.

*

Garrett Jacob-Hobbs paced restlessly back and forth across the living room carpet. Suddenly he stopped his pacing and turned around to walk to a record player.   
He put on a record and an up-tempo song started to blast from the speakers. Fast beat and loud. He started to sway. He looked at a framed picture of Abigail on the table, eyes wet. He started to dance, jitterbugging back and forth in front of the picture. A loud moaning, wailing sound begun errupting from his throat. 

Startled by the sound and the music from downstairs Laura Hobbs in her pajama's and a dressing gown rushed to the living room, freezing in place when he saw Garrett dancing and crying, wailing like a wounded animal.  
"Garrett...?" She called him tentatively. The man turned to look at her, then walked straight over and grabbed her.   
"We have to dance, Laura..." He tried to move her, tried desperately to dance with her but she struggled in his arms: "Stop it!"  
"Laura, we have to dance - we have to dance for Abigail! "  
Laura started to cry, as Garrett swirled her around in a tight grip, hurting her arms. The man wailed and cried and moved his wife around like a doll, as the music drowned both their cries.

*

Will answered the bedside phone of his hotel room: " Agent Graham ...   
"Were you sleeping? "   
"Yes, who is this? "   
" It's a strange night. There's something in the air, can you feel it?"   
Will waited. The person on the other line was silent for a moment:   
"You know about Theresa Banks, the pretty girl they found last year ... "   
"Yes, I know about Theresa."   
" I know the man who did her ... I know about the stitches, with the red thread ... and there's more that I think you'd enjoy hearing. I'm at the morgue right now."  
Will hung up the phone, started to get out of bed and then he was standing in a large, windowless, well-lit sparsely furnished red-draped room. There was only a small table and three easy chairs. Will found himself sitting in one of the chairs.

A little man, three and a half feet tall, in a red suit, stood with his back to Will, shaking violently. A pretty young woman who looked exactly like Abigail Hobbs, sat across from Will in another easy chair. The little man stopped shaking, turned to Will and clapped his hands:  
"Let's rock!"   
The little man sat down on the third chair beside Abigail. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands slowly together. Then he was holding hands with the girl. They were looking at each other and then they looked at Will, smiling enigmatically. The little man rubbed his hands slowly together again; the shadow of an owl passed above them. Both the little man's and the girl's speech was oddly stilted.   
Will just sat still, watched and listened.  
"I've got good news. That gum you like is going to come back in style", the little man spoke to him. Then his gaze turned momentarily to Abigail before he was looking at Will again, talking like he was letting him on a secret: "She's my cousin, but doesn't she look almost exactly like Abigail Hobbs? "   
"But it is Abigail Hobbs", Will stuttered, then looked at Abigail: "Are you Abigail Hobbs?"   
"I feel like I know her, but sometimes my arms bend back", the girl said in that odd way of speech Will couldn't make sense of even though he understood them perfectly.   
The little man looked slyly at the girl and then at Will: "She's filled with secrets. Where we're from, the birds sing a pretty song and there's always music in the air." 

Strange saxophone music filtered into the air. The little man hopped off the chair and begun to dance a strange dance around the table. Abigail rose from her seat, walked to Will and bent down to gently kiss him on the mouth. Then she turned to whisper something in his ear...  
  
Will shot up out of bed gasping and panting.


	4. The Cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I especially can't write Mason Verger. But I tried.

Will Graham stood in the woods, wearing hunting gear and a rifle under his arm. He moved through the forest, stepping carefully, gun raised. He was listening, but there was only the wind rustling through the trees.  
He suddenly detected movement in the trees up ahead. He raised his rifle to his shoulder in one quick movement. The black stag appeared. It was a large, majestic beast, larger than any ordinary stag, the way it moved and observed Will was frightening.  
Will froze. Then his finger tightened on the trigger.   
But the black stag was gone. 

Sudden rustling in the trees behind him and Will spun around, rifle at the ready.  
He catched a glimpse of the black stag moving. Will followed it with his gun, then lost sight. He listened with the barrel of his rifle aimed forward, ready. More rustling to his right. Then to his left.  
Then silence.

Will slowly advanced deeper into the forest, moving cautiously. He approached a thicket of branches, and the black stag bolted up ahead. Fast as a heartbeat Will aimed and fired, somehow knowing where the stag was though not sure if he managed to hit it. As he rushed to the spot where the stag had been just a moment ago, he noticed blood on ground, splattered on the leaves there. Black as blood in the moonlight.  
Will followed the spots of blood. He pursued faster, more urgent, breathing hard, breath frosting in the air.

He stopped as he noticed the black stag between the trees just ahead. He raised the rifle but the stag is there and then gone.  
Will ran to the spot, saw the stag running away, raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger, making the gunshot blast echoing through the air.  
The black stag juddered and crashed through undergrowth. Will ran after it. It disappeared into a dense thicket and he heard a loud thud from within, knowing that the stag had collapsed and the chase ended.

  
Will, panting, pushed into the thicket. Nervous and tense. Low on the ground, just through the brush, he saw the antlers moving.  
Will parted the branches with his rifle barrel and instead of seeing the gigantic bulk of the black stag he saw the delicate figure of Abigail Hobbs lying on the ground, bleeding.  
She stared up at him. Abigail’s eyes fixed on Will in a silent plea. Instead of a slit throat, there was a bullet hole in her neck that is gushing blood in spurts.  
Will stared in horror. He spun around when he saw a dark figure moving in his peripheral vision: there was a black figure, melding into the shadows, almost human but with an antlered head. Suddenly the horned man was nearly upon Will, fixing him with a terrifying pair of eyes, like eye- shaped full moons.

Will woke up with a hoarse cry.

*

Hannibal had tracked down Matthew Brown. It hadn't been very difficult. Abigail had mentioned him couple of times during their last sessions and although he had planned on meeting the young man earlier, Abigail's death had put such plans on hold. Since Will Graham was interested in finding the man,  
Hannibal had intented on finding him first and to observe, perhaps to talk, before he decided if he'd have any need for his continued existence.

Matthew Brown was a local small time drug dealer. He lived outside the town proper in a small trailer park. His day job was trucking and side job a dealer; some of this clientele being high school kids. He was a man no one would miss, and his unwise dalliance with Abigail was a reason enough to cut his life short.

Safely away in the treeline he watched the young tall brunette with short cropped hair and strong upper body fixing his car, Hannibal was still undecided how to proceed. If Will would not have been in town he would've just killed Brown - and Garrett Jacob-Hobbs, but he was curious to see what the young agent would do. What he could do. For a moment more he observed, then made his decision and disappeared back into the woods.

*

After quick breakfast at the hotel Will entered the shabby looking trailer of Matthew Brown, and was met with Sheriff Crawford, who was supervising the investigation of the trailers contents. Beverly and Zeller were looking through the contents of the drawers and taking fingerprints from the surfaces.  
"Morning," Jack greeted Will.  
"What've we got, Jack?"  
"We actually got anonymous tip this morning", Jack started, Will raised his eyebrows, "saying that Matthew Brown was involved with Abigail Hobbs."  
Will simply nodded, unsurprised: "The letter 'm' in Abigail's diary."  
"Exactly. Jimmy said he couldn't replace the voice of the caller, and we don't have any way to track it, but if what the caller said is true, it would confirm that there's a connection."

Will chewed his lip as he wondered who would leave an anonymous tip about Abigail's affairs. Only person who might have known about Brown was Marissa Schurr, and she had disappeared.

"You have any coffee with you? I didn't sleep well last night."  
Jack gestured at coffee thermos and Will eagerly helped himself as he poured himself coffee on a small polycoated paper cup.  
" You're looking a little peaked. "  
Will drank careful sips of the strong coffee, trying not to burn his mouth: "Any sightings on Brown?"  
" No one's seen him for two days. We've canvassed the trailer park and the truck station where he works. He's disappeared."

  
Will looked down at the dirty looking carpet on the floor, as Beverly walked to them: "Morning, Will."   
Will swallowed the coffee he had been sipping before greeting her, eyes fixed on the carpet.  
"The blood on that shirt you found is AB negative. It's not Abigail's blood", Beverly said and Will nodded. ('That's a shame.') Then he inwardly grimaced at himself for thinking so, but looking at both Jack and Beverly he could see they had similar thoughts about hoping to have found the killer, even if their suspect had ran away.  
"Could you find out if the blood was Brown's?" Will asked her and she shrugged:  
"You'd have to catch him first. We'd need a sample of his blood to determine if he's a match."  
Will sighed.  
"Sorry", Beverly added with an apologetic smile.

"Where's Randall Tier?" Will turned to ask Jack.  
"He made bail this morning but we got a tail on him."  
"Good. Can't be sure if Brown tries to contact him or not."

  
Will walked along the carpet, shoes poking at a odd shape he had noticed. He went down on his hunches and peeled back the carpet revealing a dusty copy of the 'Flesh World'- magazine. Without a question Jack just offered him a pair of gloves which he took and gingerly snatched the magazine from the floor. He set it down on a table.  
"'Flesh World' again," Jack commented.   
"There was an ad for Elise Nichols'", Will said while turning the pages to find the correct page with the picture of the girl. There's an opened envelope between the pages, with a letter inside. Will carefully removed the envelope.   
"We traced that ad. Came into the magazine in a plain envelope, no name - "   
"Here's how it works", Will started, remembering having to deal with similar ads back when he was a cop in New Orleans, "the magazine's a clearing house: readers write letters in response to ads and send them into the magazine, then the magazine mails those letters on to the advertiser. No direct contact." 

Will showed Jack the envelope: "Elise received her letters at this P.O. Box. "   
"That's a local zip code. "  
"My guess is this P.O. box will be registered in the name of Matthew Brown. Let's see who was writing to Elise", Will muttered, "Post marked Georgia." He took out the letter. There was a couple of snapshots inside as well. Will and Jack looked at the snapshots.   
"Damn", Zeller said behind them peering at the picture, letting out a whistle, "not the most photogenic guy." Beverly appeared next to him to take a look and hummed: "Somehow the beard ruins the effect of the lingerie, don't you think?"   
"Enough commentary you two", Jack said chidingly, "Zeller, go look for this PO box. Beverly, you're free to go until we have something new to send you."  
Two of them shrugged and did as Jack said, without further commentary.  
  
Will took a look at the trailer's bedroom - the kitchen-living room seemingly been processed in most parts. Will took a look at the mess of clothing on the untidy bed, but there wasn't much in the room besides the bed. Will bent down and tried to peer under the bed but the space between was impossibly narrow. Will stuck his arm under there, feeling for anything - and his fingers did touch something. He reached again and grabbed at a bunch of papers, pulling them out and trying not to sneeze when the dust clang to his arm, spreading everywhere. Will looked at the papers he had grabbed: they were a heap of letters; all opened and flimsily hidden away.

Will examined them.  
"These are all from people responding to Elise's ad in the magazine. " Jack, who had come to see the pile lonly looked at them with obvious distate but didn't try to read them.  
" Maybe there's even something from someone we know..."  
Jack, bothered: " There better not be. "  
Will read the letters of both lewd content and more politely written ones, when he noticed something: "Jack, hand me that magazine again", Jack gave him the issue of 'Flesh world' and Will paged through it.  
"What is it?   
"Those letters are addressed to two different ad numbers: Elise Nichols' and another one .." Will looked through the ads and stopped, then read one of the ads aloud to Jack: "'Young student requires instruction in the ways of love. Only generous, mature men may apply.'"   
The ad featured a color photograph of a body of a girl in lingerie, suggestively posed in front of dark red drapes. Her head had been cropped from the photo. Will went to look through the forensic set they had on the table and whipped out a magnifying glass and examined the photo.   
"It's Abigail. "  
"How do you know?"   
"I mean this has to be her; the letters addressed this ad as well as Elise's, and she was most likely involved with Matthew Brown in some way. It's at least a possible connection between the two girls and Matthew Brown. I'm just not sure what this is all about. Was Abigail Hobbs prostituting herself? And if, why? Was she selling drugs for Matthew Brown? What did she need all the money for?"  
Jack considered it for a moment: "The Hobbs family was well-off. They don't have any debts, as far as I know, even their house is already paid off. I can't think of any reason for a 17 year old girl to need large amounts of money. Unless she was in some kind of trouble? Maybe Brown was blackmailing her?"  
"Maybe", Will conceded, but was unsure if that was it. He thought about Hannibal and that he might know.

He looked at the photograph of Abigail in lingerie again and froze: "Those red drapes", he muttered, then turned around on his heels and went for the refrigerator, looking at the photographs taped on it before pulling one of them out and showing it to Jack: there was a picture of a small log cabin in the woods, a man standing in front of it; Matthew Brown. Will handed the magnifying glass to Jack. He looked through it at the photo; there were red drapes visible in the windows. Will couldn't explain why, but he felt that there was a connection between that cabin and Abigail.

His eyes went to the other paper taped on the refrigerator door: a bill.  
"Can you think of a good reason why someone living in a trailer would buy fifty gallons of heating oil?"  
"To heat a log cabin?"   
"We should look through Brown's papers to find out where that cabin is located."

*

After they returned to the station, having processed Brown's trailer and failed to find the location of his cabin from Brown's papers, Jimmy Price gave Will a fax from the bureau's lab.  
"Miriam finished the reconstruction of the plastic object found in Abigail's stomach", Will told Jack and showed him the fax: it was a drawing of a poker chip with something with the letter "j."   
"That could be One-Eyed Jack's", Jack said thoughtfully after a moment, and Will looked at him questioningly. "It's a casino just across the border, but that's all I know. Never been into gambling."

Will thought about the new piece of information, trying to see how it fit with Abigail Hobbs. Then he thought about asking Hannibal to come with them to the cabin but after a second of considering of calling the man, he thought better of it. Whatever answers the man might have would have to wait. He didn't know what would wait for them at the cabin. Whatever trouble Abigail had gotten herself into, Hannibal, who had been obviously very fond of her, wouldn't need to know about it. Not yet at least, if ever.

While he was thinking about Hannibal, Zeller came to them with a victorious grin: "I found Matthew Brown's cabin! I have the address right here."  
Will and Jack exchanged looks: "Ready for a field trip?"

*

After half an hour of drive from the town, they stopped and parked their car in a clearing, some ways away from their destination as it turned out that they didn't know exactly where the cabin was, just the general whereabouts. And no roads led any further. They would have to walk the rest. 

Will, Jack, Zeller and Beverly Katz were preparing to go off into the woods none of them had ever ventured before. It was a nice, sunny day for a hike in the woods. Will found himself in the greatest of moods as well as homesick, thinking about his tiny little house deep in the West-Virginia woods, and his pack of dogs, all seven of them waiting him to come back home so they could take similar walks in the forest again.

Zeller took the lead, following both map and a compass, although according to the man, the walk shouldn't be too long. There were a few log cabins in the area, most not used for all year round living since they were too secluded and with no roads going to them, they were mostly rented out. The paperwork Zeller got wasn't as helpful as asking Jimmy about the cabin, who recognised the design, and was able to point out in which area they were.

Jack turned to Beverly, who didn't look exactly happy to be out there in the woods: "Beverly, you sure you're up for this? "   
"In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess." She sighed: "You might need my help anyway, might as well come with you now. And with my luck you're gonna go stumbling on tree roots and break an ankle so I might as well tag along to patch you up if need be." 

The woods grew dark with shadows as the sun that had warmed them had suddenly disappeared behind clouds. The air was still and a solitary crow called somewhere far above the treetops. They all stopped at times to examine the ground, looking at the tracks of animals and people that had walked the same paths they were following. Not expecting to find any tracks worth of note besides seeing how popular the area was for people to walk around or any signs of occupation, as they were far from roads and places where majority of the people had settled.

Ahead of them a simple, solidly constructed log cabin stood on a clearing. Smoke rose from the chimney.   
They examined the appearance of the cabin. "Not the one we're looking for", Will said.   
"Might want to stop by and ask directions anyway. And question about Brown", Jack said and Will nodded at that. As a precaution, Jack and Zeller drew their weapons along with Will as they started to advance the occupied cabin. As they round the corner of the small building, they came face to face with an old lady, carrying a log on her arms like you'd carry a baby. 

The lady with the log stood and stared at them disapprovingly and Jack and Zeller holstered their guns - Will followed.   
"Good day, ma'am", Jack said, smiling at her pleasantly.   
"About time you got here," she said to them chidingly before she turned, muttering to herself: "They move so slowly when they're not afraid."  
She went right inside the cabin, leaving the door open. The group paused and looked each other. Then the "log lady" appeared in the doorway again;  
"Come on then. My log does not judge,   
She disappeared inside again. They looked at each other. 

Will, Jack, Zeller and Beverly entered into the cabin made of one large room, with simple kitchen and a bed in the corner. There was a table with six chairs, six places with a tea-kettle steaming and ready, based on the strong herbal scent filling the air.   
"I've got tea. I've got cookies. No cake." Zeller face lightened up: "What kind of cookies?"   
"Sugar", the log lady said as she gestured them to sit down.  
"The owls won't see us in here."   
  
Will looked at her puzzled and was certain she was off her rocker, but since everyone seemed to be alright with the situation and Will was curious if the old woman had seen anything worth of note in the area, he conceded and sat down with the rest of them.  
" Some tea would be very nice", Beverly said as she sat down with a pleased sigh.   
"Shut your eyes and you will burst into flames", the log lady spat out, looking at them all like she was judging them, as she put a plate of cookies on table  
"Thank you", Jack said without batting an eye. The log lady took her seat, nodding at the tea-kettle on the table:   
"We'll let it steep."  
Zeller reached for a cookie but log lady lightly slapped his hand.   
"Wait for the tea!" She chided like at an ill-mannered child: " The fish aren't running." Will finally decided to ask: "M'am, were you expecting us?   
"You're two days late. Clues may be as cold as the tea but that's your concern." She looked troubled as she continued: "My log saw something, something significant."   
Jack leaned in: "M'am, what did your log see?"   
Log lady shook her head: "Drink first and be ready for the truth." She checked the pot, decided it was ready and started to pour. Six cups. Formal manners. 

"My husband was a logging man."   
"Oh? "   
"He met the devil. The devil took the form of fire. Fire is the devil hiding like a coward in the smoke. "   
" The day after the wedding, wasn't it Margaret?" Jack asked her gently. She looked away, face grumbled with old pain.   
Beverly smiled at her gently: "The wood holds many spirits, doesn't it Margaret?" She nodded sadly. They nibbled on cookies and drank their tea. 

The Log Lady turned to Will, gesturing towards the log she had kept on her arms all that time, even as she carefully poured the tea to their tea cups she shifted it around so it was constantly safely tugged close to her.  
"You can ask it now."   
Will looked at the log, then at Jack who nodded, back at the log again and asked it solemnly, respectfully: "What did you see that night? The night Abigail Hobbs was killed? "   
Log lady hushed the log in her arms: "Shhhh. Let me do the talking. " She closed her eyes, pinching her face in intense concentration, her voice trembling: "Dark. Laughing. The owls were flying. Many things were blocked. Laughing. One man. Two girls. Flashlights, in the woods, pass by, over the ridge. The owls were near. The dark was pressing in on her ... Quiet then. A gentle wind. Footsteps, later, one man pass by. All quiet. Screams, far away. Terrible. Terrible. One voice ... Girl's voice.... Further up. Over the ridge The owl were silent. " The log lady opened her eyes, blinking disoriented for a second then composed. All of them were silent. 

  
*

Without getting much more information from the old lady they left, but first finding out from her that Brown's cabin was less than a mile from hers. Will, Jack, Zeller and Beverly made their way up the ridge through thick woods.   
"The two girls she spoke of were probably Abigail and Elise, and the man; Matthew Brown."   
"Yeah", Jack replied, "And the second man possibly our killer."   
"Maybe", Will muttered as a reply.   
"But we can't use her as a witness, she doesn't seem to be-", Will hesitated, "all there."  
"Yeah, Margaret is a rather unique character, and I believe her word but I suppose her testimony wouldn't be useable in court."

Zeller, who was walking ahead of them suddenly stopped and gestured them to be quiet: "Do you hear that?"  
They all listened. Somewhere far away they could heard music.  
They continued on towards the direction of it. 

They emerged from the thicket into a clearing; on a rocky point above them stood the log cabin. It was rundown and not well maintained with the dirty windows, moss covered roof and sun bleached lumber walls. Will pulled the photograph of Brown's cabin he had put into his pocket and compared the picture with the actual cabin before them. There was no mistaking it. Its shabby appearance explained why Brown chose to live in a trailer instead of the cabin. There were red drapes in the windows.

The music they had been following issued from inside the cabin. The song seemed to end after a while but it always started to play anew. They drew their weapons again and carefully approached the cabin. Beverly stayed a little behind in case there would be a gunfight.

They made it to the cabin door without a problem. Jack drew out the keyring he had found amongst Brown's possessions and they tried each one of the ten keys until one of them worked. Will stood next to Jack and nodded as the man pushed the door open, gun at a ready, aiming inside. There was no lights on but the windows and the open door let in the dim late afternoon light. The cabin was only a one large room and as they didn't see or hear any movement inside they cautiously proceeded inside. The music was ear piercingly loud. They looked through every corner, checked the bathroom but the cabin was empty of any occupants. They holstered their weapons and Jack called Beverly to come inside.

Will drew aside a set of the heavy, dusty red drapes, letting more light into the room. On a simple record player, the tone arm pulled back over a 45 record; the song ended again, the stylus lifted, returned to the outside, then back onto the outside edge of the record. Scratched, popped, then the song started again.   
Will observed the record player and under his breath muttered to himself: "... and there's always music in the air..." Will lifted the stylus off the record to stop the music. 

All four of them started to proceed with extreme care, trying not to move or disturb anything as they looked through the cabin's contents. The single room was dusty, its corners filled with abandoned trash like broken furniture, old porn magazines, broken television, loads of empty bottles, cigarette butts and ashtrays. Otherwise the room had a bizarre look, it had a cheap bordel decor with its overstuffed davenport, dirty looking oriental throw rugs, tasseled satin pillows and couple of used needles. On a tripod, a 35 millimeter camera, facing a small photo bay created by the drapes and pillows. 

Will went for the camera. Zeller gave him a pair of latex gloves before he opened the camera to reveal a film.  
"Zeller, bring us an evidence bag", Jack ordered as he stood behind Will looking at the camera and the way it had been aimed. Zeller reached in his backpack and handed over an evidence bag. Will removed the film.

  
"Hey, come look at this!" Beverly called out drawing their attention to dark stains on the wood and one of the throw rugs. They all examined it.  
"Blood", Beverly stated, though it was obvious what it was. Will took a long look at the splatter: "Not an arterial spray."  
"No", Beverly agreed, "Looks like blood from a surface wound. The shape indicates that someone laid down, making the blood pattern we see here. Seemingly a head wound from how the blood is spilt. Those can bleed a lot."  
"Someone was laying down, possibly unconscious, hit in the head", Will spoke slowly, seeing the scene unravel in front of his eyes. Matthew Brown came to the cabin with two girls, someone attacked someone, most likely Brown had been the victim of the attack, as neither of the girls had any headwounds. The second man following them most likely attacked Brown. Then, perhaps the killer left with the girl's, but did they go willingly or not, two girls against one man wasn't enough? What exactly happened with Brown? Why was he left alive, left behind? And where was he now?

"Jack, agent Graham", Zeller called out, pointing at something on the floor. They all walked closer, hunching down to look at a thousand dollar chip, with a small chunk missing. It read: "ONE-EYED -ACK'S".

* 

Will was surprised to see Hannibal at the station waiting for them when they arrived exhausted and with muddy shoes. The man was even more dressed up than usual, smiling at them benevolently.  
Jack greeted the man jovially, but didn't seem to be surprised at his outfit as he excused himself leaving Will standing before the older man.

  
Hannibal locked his eyes with Will immediately and Will looked down at the man's chin as he approached:  
"Agent Graham, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to an event at the Great Northern Hotel tonight?"  
Will glanced at his muddy shoes and trousers after the long walk in the woods, and Hannibal seemed to have noticed: "You have time to freshen up at the hotel before the event starts. The Vergers arranged a welcoming party for their business associates and invited some of the noticeable people of the town, myself included." He tilted his head as he observed Will: "I would think a night out would do you good."  
Will tried to stop himself fidgeting, for the thought of socializing in some formal party didn't appeal to him.  
"I'll, I'll think about it." He glanced up to see the warm, pleased smile on Hannibal's face. "Please do, It would be a pleasure to have you there. Mason can be insufferable at best of times, but your company would make the evening more enjoyable."  
Before Will could comment, Hannibal checked his wristwatch and continued: "I must depart but I sincerely hope you'll make your appearance at the Timber hall at 7 pm."  
Will nodded, not agreeing but showing that he understood, and Hannibal wished him good evening before he exited. 

Then Jack was back at his side: "You should consider going, Will", he said, offering Will a cup of coffee which he took smiling gratefully, "Jimmy took a look at the One Eyed Jack's -casino, and it seems that Mason Verger has something to do with it. There's no actual paperwork on this side of the border that we could find, but Jimmy has a lot of connections around the town. It's apparently a well known casino but it's not known who the owner is. But Mason Verger conducts some business over there, if we're to believe the rumors."   
"That's right", Jimmy piped up from the front desk, putting aside a crossword puzzle he had been filling, "I know almost every local worth knowing, and especially the truckers are horrible gossipers. Verger's been seen coming and going there."  
Jack chuckled: "See what I mean?"  
"Alright, so you want me to go there? Now?"  
Jack checked his own wristwatch: "It's 5 pm, and we're basically done here for tonight, so if you could attend to the Verger party, you might be able ask Mason Verger some questions about the casino, like who are the owners and how to contact them."  
"You're not going?" Will asked Jack and tried not to sound pathetic as he asked it, reluctant to suffer all evening when he had a long day behind him.  
"No thanks, I can't stand Mason Verger and I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual", Jack shrugged nonchalantly.  
Will couldn't help the groan that left his mouth.  
"Don't be so bummed out, agent Graham", Jimmy said, "I hear their buffets are to die for."

*

The Great Northern Hotel banquet room was alive with music and laughter as Will fidgeted at the entrance. There was a banner above the doors: "FROM ICELAND TO TWIN PEAKS: A GREAT NORTHERN WELCOME!" Festive, folksy Icelandic music played by some band, all dressed in tuxedos. The reception party was just under way. People mingled with the Icelander visitors, clustering around a buffet table filled with different kinds of delicacies. 

A hotel employee was at the door, checking a guest list as people arrived.   
Will walked to the sharply dressed employee, who gave him a polite smile: "Name?"  
"Will Graham."  
The employee checked the list and marked off a name: "Welcome, Mr. Graham. Have a pleasant evening." Will nodded and awkwardly stepped into the hall, seeking any familiar faces in the crowd, snatching up a glass of champagne from a waiter who passed him.

He heard snippets of conversations around him:  
"-- of course the modern age has changed forever the way your people live, Mr. Thorson, but my guess would be that there still remains a tremendous vestigial interest in the legends and folklore of ancient Iceland. "   
"Now let me get this straight; your entire country is above the timber line?"  
And something about investments and "Ghostwood Project". Nothing that would interest him but since he was interested in seeing Mason Verger, perhaps managing to talk with the man, he tolerated the uncomfortable, noisy environment and the curious stares.

Will scanned the room and stopped when he saw the Verger siblings talking with two people, a brunette woman whose back was turned, and Hannibal. Debating for a second more Will emptied his glass of liquid courage and walked towards the group.

When he got close Hannibal noticed him and smiled, making the woman in a generously cut blue evening dress turn around and Will froze as he recognised her: "Will", Alana called him and smiled after the confusion on her face disappeared.  
Mason turned to look with interest: "The agent of the FBI, am I right?"  
Will nodded and joined the party: "Yeah, that's right."  
Mason giggled. Margot, who was standing next to him, looked at Will coolly, and seemed to be completely cut-off from any emotional response to the people around her.  
Alana looked slightly uncomfortable and Hannibal was still smiling at Will with something like genuine pleasure.

"There's been so much excitement over these murders. My papa would've been so upset if he'd lived to see this day when murders of little sluts was driving his business away." Mason laughed his high pitched laughter while Will was stunned speechless, Alana looked disgusted and Hannibal's polite smile strained.  
"Eh, Margot?" Mason elbowed his sister - not too gently, but her cool exterior didn't change, she only took the shove of the elbow and smiled her cold, polite smile: "I'm sure he would", she replied evenly. Will could easily see that Margot despised her brother and he couldn't blame her. He wouldve been worried about his own temper flaring if not for Alana getting enraged for him; she was barely holding her temper in check and would've lashed out if Hannibal wouldn't have put his hand over her lower back and leaned down to suggest that they'd go see if Jack Crawford had arrived. Will knew it was an excuse to leave the company for he knew as well as Hannibal that Jack was still at the station and didn't plan on coming. Jack had expressed his disgust with Mason Verger and "wouldn't spend a second in the man's company as long as he lived", as the man had put it.

Alana looked at Hannibal and nodded. They made their excuse to leave but Will stayed, still planning on speaking to the man. Margot gave him a sidelong glance as if to say 'dont'. Will remembered the morning she warned him not to speak with her brother. Will understood now why.  
"Mr. Verger", Will started but Mason hold his hand to stop him from going further, "Please mister Graham, I know what you're planning on asking me, since your beautiful little boss already made some inquiries and I'm going to repeat this only once to you as I said it to her; I don't know anything about any murders, I'm a busy as a bee businessman, and any questions will have to go through my lawyer."  
Will blinked: "Your lawyer is... Garrett Jacob-Hobbs, right?"  
Mason beamed at him: "Yes!" He exhaled excitedly.  
"I thought he was on leave because--"  
"Because his little hussy got GOT."  
"Mason, please," Margot interrupted.  
"Alright, little Margie: his 'baby-girl' got her throat slashed", Mason corrected himself and Will wanted to excuse himself before he would lose it and bash the man's face in.  
"Mason, I believe Cordell is trying to catch you attention", Margot spoke and to Will's relief Mason, after squinting at someone in the crowd with displeasure, huffed and without looking gave his champagne glass to Margot and walked away, but not before clapping Will on the shoulder grinning: "See you later".

Margot let out a sigh and gave the extra champagne glass to a close by waiter. Will looked at her and she him. Her face was distinctly different now that her brother was gone, more animated, tired and sad. "Want to go to the bar and get some whiskey?"  
Will nodded: "Sure."  
They walked towards the exit and Will glanced back to see Alana and Hannibal watching them leave. 

*

They sat on the bar, Margot sighing as she took her seat, raised her finger at the bartender, but didn't have to wait even for a second before she was served. She ordered them a bottle of scotch, and after they got their tumblers filled with smoky scented drinks, she raised her drink and downed half of it.  
"Thank you for joining me, agent Graham."  
"No problem, parties aren't really my thing."  
She looked at him curiously: "Neither mine, at least no parties my brother arranges. So, what's your excuse for being there?"  
Will gulped down some of his scotch, enjoying the slight burn and warmth of the alcohol going down from his throat to his stomach.  
"I, uh, I was asked to come", Will said and gave her an slightly embarrassed smile.  
She raised her eyebrow but didn't inquire further. Instead she shifted her brown curly hair from her shoulders to her back so it didn't slip on the bar counter. 

Will glanced at her sideprofile and thought that she was beautiful. But as she had already said the first time they had met, Will had the wrong parts to be of any interest to her. Will drank more from his glass to prevent himself from thinking about it any further.  
"So, your brother is a, uh," Will started and didn't know what to say about the man to her sister in a the man's hotel, surrounded by his employees.  
"Yes, he certainly is", she said and smiled at him before turning to look ahead, eyes growing glossy, and the smile fading from her face.  
"You have any siblings, agent Graham?"  
"No, I was, uh, an only child. My mother left me and my dad when I was still young."  
She sipped her drink.  
"Families aren't all that they're made to be."  
"No", was all Will replied to that.  
"How long do you think you'll be staying in Twin Peaks?"  
"I'm not sure", Will said, decidedly not going to say anything about the state of the investigation.  
"It might be best not to stay too long."  
"Why is that?"  
Margot shrugged. "Just an advice how things work around here."  
Will wasn't sure if that was truly meant as a threat or not, or for what reason. Unease came over him.

"May I ask something?" Will started and she swallowed another mouthful: "Go ahead, agent, ask away."  
"What do you know about a place called One Eyed Jack's?"  
She was quiet long enough that Will looked at her. But her face was closed off.  
"I've heard of it", was all she eventually said.  
"Heard anything that might tell me who the owners were?"  
"Sorry, agent, can't help you with that. Maybe you should go there yourself and ask", she said, emptying her glass.  
She poured herself another drink, then raised it: "Reasoning makes us human, but questioning the nature of our humanity makes us miserable."  
Will smiled wryly: "I'll drink to that." 

They were interrupted by a waiter from the party: "Excuse me, ms Verger, your presence is needed at the Timber hall; there's some kind of disruption over there."  
Margot sighed and stood up, giving Will a polite smile. And just like that her mask was back on: "Excuse me, agent Graham".  
She walked away and Hannibal walked in at the same time, they looked at each other and shared a quick smile but didn't stop to talk. Hannibal walked straight over to Will and gestured at the seat next to him: "May I join you?"  
Will shifted in his seat: "Sure."  
The man sat down and Will pushed the bottle of scotch towards him.  
"Wanna share?"  
Hannibal inspected the bottle for a second before he smiled politely: "Why not."  
Will ordered Hannibal a glass and the bartender poured him.  
"I see you're making new friends", the man said after he had sipped at the scotch and seemed to accept it as he continued to drink it at leisurely pace.  
"Is that disapproval I hear?" Will asked with a raised eyebrow.  
"Certainly not, Margot is a friend worth having."  
Will glanced at the man's profile before making noncommittal sound.  
"So, where's Alana? I didn't expect to see her here. I thought she left back to Washington."  
Hannibal smiled, put his glass down and turned more towards Will, his leg only an inch from Will's: "Seems like you and Alana have some history behind you."  
Will frowned at that.  
"Don't worry, there's nothing between Alana and I for you to worry about. I used to be her mentor in medical school until she changed her career from medical to law enforcement, and left for the FBI. We kept irregular contact, but after she rose to her current position, she asked me to help with profiling from time to time. I've only seeked her company at my dinner table."  
Will chuckled and raised his hand in surrender: "Alright, alright, I believe you. And besides", he continued with a wry smile, "whatever Alana does in her own time is none of my business."  
Will chewed his lip for a second before he decided to continue: "I only kissed her once."  
Hannibal raised his eyebrows:  
"It was after I... it was after the Cheasepeak Ripper- copycat case. I... I shot the copycat before he could attack Alana. He was confused about his identity and killed one of his previous psychiatrist, mauled another and then went for Alana, because she had interviewed him couple of times", Will's voice started to drift away so he cleared his throat: "Anyway, after that things got messy and I made a pass at her and kissed her."  
Hannibal sat in place, cool and calm, as Will fidgeted with his glass and coaster.  
"Tell me, what was Alana’s reaction?"  
Will grimaced as he thought back to that night:  
"She said she wouldn’t be good for me and I wouldn’t be good for her."  
"I don’t disagree."  
Will looked at him with both hurt and confused expression on his face, but Hannibal continued:  
"Besides her being your supervisor, and her moral code about dalliances with her agents, she also wouldn't be able to stop from studying and observing you. And you would resent her for it."  
Will sighed: "I know. I just... wanted to kiss her since I met her."  
"You waited a long time before doing so as I understand, which suggests you were kissing her for a reason in addition to wanting to."  
Will sighed and was even more hunched into himself than before. He didn't know why he was speaking about any of it, perhaps it was the alcohol making his tongue loose. Or maybe it was just Hannibal: "After I shot the Chesapeake Ripper- copycat, a- a man named Abel Gideon, I was in a... I wasn't doing so great. And Alana saw it, and... I guess something on her face changed, I don’t know. She knew."  
"What did she know, Will?"  
"That I, I was feeling unstable.  
"That’s why you kissed her. A clutch for balance.   
"Because I was losing mine."  
"She said to me that what you do is not good for you.  
Will smiled joylessly: "Unfortunately, I’m good for it. "  
Hannibal was looking at him, Will could tell. He was also certain that he was slightly flushed from his embarrassment; he hadn't talked about any of it to anyone. It felt good though. He glanced at the man who looked elsewhere when their eyes met. Hannibal didn't pry nor judge. He seemed genuinely interested in everything Will had to say.

Will cleared his throat unsubtly, as he tried to change the conversation from personal matters:  
"You, uh, you said that there was nothing you could tell me about the therapy sessions with Abigail, but can you tell me if she was seeing someone? Everyone we talked to said she wasn't dating but in her diary she mentioned meeting someone whose name she had mentioned only as the letter 'M'." Will looked at Hannibal who seemed to be thinking about it, slightly frowning. "I do not believe she ever mentioned meeting someone with a name starting with the letter 'm', except for her friend Marissa Schurr." Hannibal looked at him, eyebrow raised:  
"Are you certain she was writing about a significant other and it wasn't a code for something? She was a very bright young woman and she kept her secrets close to her heart."  
Will shook his head. "Everything is possible."  
He sighed, ruffling his hair. "Wish we had more evidence, more information. For such a small town it seems like no one knew her as well as they thought. And our only witness is still unconscious, Abigail's friend Marissa Schurr has disappeared and possibly fallen as another victim. This killer is exceedingly difficult to track down. We're basically hoping for some evidence from the lab but. Otherwise--," Will let out a frustrated sigh: "Without a fresh crime scene I can't see our killer. We're only tracking cold trails."  
"Perhaps we could talk about it together and I would be able to help you see your killer? After all I did write my own observations of the killers profile, it might help to discuss about the case to help you to see it."  
Will chewed on his lower lip, brows knitted together: "Yeah, I suppose it might help."  
He glanced at Hannibal who smiled.  
"Perhaps we could go through the profile at Friday, during our dinner?"  
"Oh, right", Will stammered, realizing that he wasn't going to be able to get away from the dinner he had been politely coerced into.

"What about the girl you found on the field, the Jane Doe?"  
Will exhaled, eyes flicking here and there, reconstructing the scene inside his mind: "It was the negative image of our victims: our killer cares for these girls. He doesn't shame them - or sexually abuse them. He is... very respectful."

Will blinked and the scene dissipated as he glanced at Hannibal, worried: "Uh, I'm sorry, I realize that I don't sound very respectful towards the victims."  
Hannibal observed him unblinking: "You empathize with the killer."  
Will turned away: "N-not just the killer, I can empathize with anyone. Take anyone's point of view."  
"Not just that."  
Will swallowed harshly.  
"You become them."  
Will pinched his eyes close, chin dropping to his chest: "Yes..."  
Hannibal was silent and Will didn't dare to look at him. He was afraid of seeing being observed and dissected or look of disgust and distain, since Will had been able to become anyone if he allowed himself to merge with others, step into their shoes. It fascinated mental health professionals and caused a variety of negative feelings with others from disbelief to anger. With empathizing killers Will had seen enough disgusted faces to keep his talent a secret. At least as much as possible. Alana knew. And Hannibal had an inkling before, but now Will wasn't sure how the older man would react. Would he want to study Will? Or would he feel disgust?

Hannibal finished his drink while Will was becoming lost in his thoughts. He startled when Hannibal leaned over, eyes meeting:  
"Will, the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself and not the worst of someone else." With that, Hannibal put his hand over Will's for a second before pulling it away and leaving with a smile. Will was shocked speechless. He was mortified as he stared Hannibal's retreating back for a moment before looking around to see if anyone had seen what had happened. Then, when he had calmed down a bit he chastised himself for making hasty conclusions, after all, Hannibal was an European, like Jack had told him, and he might not realise how impropriate it was to touch another man's hand like that. Will chugged down his scotch and escaped the bar, shame flushing his cheeks.

* 

Alone in the hotel hallway, Margot stopped at a small secret door, stepping out of her heels, taking them in her hands before opening the small secret door to a wiring corridor. She moved a short distance down the corridor in dim light, kneeled down and slid a cover off a drilled peephole peering into Mason's office.  
Mason was sitting in his chair; Margot couldn't see him but the way the chair was whirling side to side was a proof enough. Cordell, Mason's lackey, tall bulky man with a soft, almost feminine voice was talking: "Our guests are leaving, would you like to me to send a word to the staff about cleaning?"  
"Yes, yes, let's get it over with", Mason exhaled impatiently. Then he was silent for a moment: "Have you seen Margot?"  
"Ms Verger had retired after seeing off our business associates."  
"What about the FBI agent?"  
"He has returned to his room."  
"Good, keep an eye on him - and Margot. I don't want my sister getting any unsavoury ideas."  
Mason was silent for a moment, before Margot could hear a sound of steel scratching against wood. She knew her brother was toying around their father's little pig-sticker, as Mason liked to call the little knife he kept with him all time.

"Margot would love to stick a knife in me, but it wouldn't be to test the thickness of my skin.  
"Yes, I remember when she tried to kill you."  
"Poor Margot. She just can't win. But I think it would be a good time to remind her of that. Perhaps a little field trip to the pig-farm is in order. I'd like to see how my special pigs are doing."  
"As you wish, sir."

Margot sneaked back the way she came, shutting the small door behind her as she staggered back on her feet along the corridor, letting out her laughter, big bursts, hysterical and gilded with an edge of desperation and madness. 

*

Will rounded the corner, fishing out his room key from his suit pocket. He stopped when he saw that the door to his room was ajar. He cursed inside his mind when he tried to reach for his gun only to realise that it was inside his room. Carefully he pushed the door open and saw with the light of the corridor that there was someone on the bed.  
"Reach over slowly and turn on the bedside lamp." The person turned on the lamp. Margot Verger was - seemingly naked - under the sheets: "Please", she said, "don't make me leave."  
Will stared at her for a moment, stunned, before he closed the door behind him, keeping his back turned to her.  
"I think", he said hoarsely, "you have the wrong room, Ms Verger. After all, I'm not your type, as you've said."  
Margot hummed: "Perhaps not, but I wouldn't mind having some company tonight."  
Will sighed tiredly: "I'm sorry, Margot, but I can't."  
They were at a standstill for a moment. Will waited.  
"Are you sure? I don't mind being here with you..." Her voice was both coaxing and hesitant. Perhaps she hadn't considered him rejecting her advances.  
"Yeah", Will said, with even more confidence that he didn't want company of any kind, "I'm sorry."  
Margot laughed but it wasn't mocking. Will turned his head to look at her. She was laughing but her eyes were shedding tears. Her laughter became slightly hysterical.  
"Don't worry about it", was all she managed to say, before she started to shift on the bed and Will hastily turned his head away while Margot got up from the bed and started to dress. Will listened to the rustle of clothing. "Are you alright, Margot?"  
She paused before she continued dressing. "I suppose. Considering the circumstances." She sighed and then was walking towards Will with her bare feet shuffling on the wooden parquet floor. Will turned to look at her, and she smiled at him sadly. "I suppose I can't tempt you to share one more drink with me?" Will smiled at her gently: "Sorry, I'd like to - but some other time."  
She smiled back but it was only a twist of her lips; a joyless smile.  
"I'll see you around, then", and with those words she walked to the door and left.  
Will exhaled and rubbed his face with his hands, before he turned to the bed, staring at the rumbled sheets a moment longer, and started to undress.


End file.
